^lOS-ANCElfr>  ^-UBRARY^ 

^ 


t  'Plays 


in  a  j\us/i 

by 


publishers  •  Chicago 
'ce  35  cents 


Plays  for  Schools  and  Colleges 

AARON  BOGGS,  FRESHMAN 

By   Walter    Ben    Hare.     Comedy  11 
females.     Time,    2M>    hours.  Price,  35  Cents. 

AFTER  THE  GAME~ 

By    Lindsey    Barbee.      Comedy    in  1    male.    9 

females.     Time,   1]4   hours.  Price,  25  Cents. 

ALL  A  MISTAKE 

By  W.  C.  Parker.     Farce-comedy  in  ?>  acts:   4   in. 
females.      Tirm.  Price,  35  Cents. 


ALL  ON  ACCOUNT  OF  POLLY 

By   Harry   L.    Newton.     Comedy  in  3  acts;   6  ma 
females.     Time,   2V4   hours.  Price,  35  Cents. 

AS  A  WOMAN  THINKETH 

By  Edith  F.  A.  U.  Painton.    Comedy  in  3  acts;  0  males, 

7  females.     Time,   2%   hours.  Price,  35  Cents. 

AT  THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

By  Lindsey  Barbee.     Comedy  in  3  acts;  6  males,  14  fe- 
males.    Time.  Price,  35  Cents. 

THE  CLASS  SHIP  ~ 

By     Edith     F.    A.     U.    Painton.      Commencement    play- 
let;   3   males,   8   females.     Time,   35   minutes. 

Price,  25  Cents. 

CLUBBING  A  HUSBAND 

By   Edith   F.  A.   U.   Painton.     Comedy  in  3  acts;   12   fe- 
males.     Time,    2   hours.  Price,  25  Cents. 

A  COLLEGE  TOWN~ 

By  Walter  Ben  Hare.    Farce-comedy  in  3  acts:  9  males, 

8  females.     Time.   2l/i.  hours.  Price,  35  Cents. 

THE  DEACON  ENTANGLED" 

By   Harry  Osborne.     Comedy  in  3  acts;  6  males,  4  fe- 
males.     Time.    2    hours.  Price,  35  Cents. 

AN  EARLY  BIRD 

By  Lindsey   Barbee.     Comedy  in  3  acts;   7  males,  7  fe- 
males.     Tim.e,    2y4.    hours.  Price,  35  Cents. 

THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  JANUARY 

By    Lindsey   Barbee.     Comedy   in  3   acts;   11   mai 
females.     Time,  2*4  hours.  Price,  35  Cent 

THE  GRADUATE'S  CHOICE 

By  Edlt'h  F.  A.  U.  Painton.    Commencement  playlet; 
females.     Time,  35  minutes.  Price,  25  Cent 

T.  S.  Denison  &  Company,  Publishers 

154  West  Randolph  Street  CHICAG 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


A  Comedv  in  Three  Acts 


BY 
LINDSEY  BARBEE 


AUTHOR    OF 


"  After  the  Game,"  "  At  the  End  of  the  Rainbow," 
"  The  Call  of  the  Colors,"  "  The  Call  of  Wohelo," 
"  The  Dream  that  Came  True,"  "  The  Fifteenth  of 
January,"  "  Then  Greek  Met  Greek,"  "  Her  First 
I'he  Kingdom  of  Heart's  Content,"  "  The 
Real  Thing  .liter  All,"  "Sing  a  Song  of  Seniors," 
"  The  Spell  of  the  Image,"  "  The  Thread  of 
Destiny,"  "  Tomorrow  at  Ten,"  "  The  Trial  of 
Heart  H'atth,  a  Wallet  and  a  Jack  of 

S  fades,"  "  If  ken  the  Clock  Strikes  Twelve,"  "  The 
Whole    Truth,"    "  In    the    College    Days,"    "  Lefs 
Pretend  — A  Book  of  Children's  Plays,"  etc. 


A 

fc. 


CHICAGO 

T.  S.  DENISON  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


NOTICE 

Production    of    this  play     »* 

free    ,0    amateurs,    but  the    sole 

professional    rights    are  reserved 


by   the   author, 


may  be    ad- 


, 

dressed   in    care   of   thePubhsh- 
ers.     Movin?    picture    rights 


COPYRIGHT,   1919.  BY 
LJNDSEY  BABBEE 


Stack 

Annex 

5 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


FOR     FIVE     MKN     AND    SKVEX     WOMEN 


(AST  OF  CHARACTERS 
(Xamed  in  order  of  appearance) 

MRS.  BROWNELL Ruth's  Aunt 

JULIET  RAYMOND .Ruth's  Secretary  and  Friend 

RUTH  MACDONALD  MOORE Always  in  a  Rush 

SUSIE A  Maid 

LEONARD  BRUCE Poor  but  Aristocratic 

WAYNE  ASHLEY Rich  but  Uncultured 

DWIGHT  LAMBERT An  Eloper 

PEGGY  PATTON Another  Eloper 

GILBERT  LANSING    A   Writer 

PHILIP   GRANT A    Millionaire 

SADIE  SODASTROM , A  Ticket  Agent 

•  h, AN  MOORE  FOSTER Ruth's  Sister 

TIME  —  The  Present. 

PLACE  —  An  Eastern  City. 
TIME  OF  PLAYING- — Two  Ho-u-rs  and  Thirty  Minutes. 

ACT  I  —  Room    in    Ruth    Moore's    residence.     An 
August  afternoon. 

ACT  II  —  Waiting  room  at  Sunshine  Junction.     A 
few  days  later. 

ACT  III  —  The  same.     A  few  hours  later. 

3 

153035G 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


STORY  OF  THE  PLAY 

Ruth  Moore,  a  maid  of  manifold  interests  and  of 
manifold  dollars,  finds  herself  avalanched  not  only  by 
the  aforesaid  over-abundance  but  by  a  pair  of  persist- 
ent suitors.  Physically  weary,  distracted  by  social  de- 
mands, and  eager  to  have  some  definite  work  and  to  be 
economically  worth  while,  she  contrives  to  obtain  —  un- 
der an  assumed  name  —  the  position  of  secretary  to 
Gilbert  Lansing,  a  well-known  editor  and  writer.  For 
this  arduous  task  Ruth  has  been  trained  by  her  own 
secretary,  Juliet  Raymond,  who  is  a  college  mate  and  an 
intimate  friend.  The  fact  that  Ruth  has  literary  am- 
bitions, a  fair  amount  of  talent  and  has  had  a  manu- 
script caustically  criticized  and  rejected  by  this  same 
Gilbert  Lansing,  makes  her  doubly  eager  to  accept  the 
position,  since  she  hopes  in  this  way  to  gain  practical 
benefit  from  association  —  although  he  is  represented 
as  old,  over-bearing  and  sarcastic.  Meanwhile,  an 
older  married  sister  whose  summer  home  is  at  no  great 
distance  and  who  is  frankly  desirous  of  finding  an 
eligible  parti  for  the  capricious  Ruth,  bids  the  girls 
come  for  a  visit  in  order  to  meet  two  friends  of  her 
husband,  whom  she  does  not  name  but  who  are  repre- 
sented one  as  distinguished  and  the  other  as  a  million- 
aire. Ruth  understands  that  once  more  Jean  is  setting 
the  stage  for  a  possible  love  story ;  nevertheless  she 
plans  to  go  before  she  enters  upon  her  new  duties. 

At  Sunshine  Junction  where  the  local  train  to  Wil- 
lowdene  connects  with  the  city  train,  Ruth  and  Juliet 
meet  Gilbert  Lansing  and  Philip  Grant,  who  have  been 
motoring  to  Willowdene  and  who  have  been  forced  on 
account  of  lack  of  gasoline  to  wait  for  the  local.  Elim- 
inating conventionality,  the  four,  without  revealing 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


their  names,  become  acquainted,  enjoy  a  primitive  aft- 
ernoon tea  and  are  interrupted  by  Peggy  Pat  and 
Dwight  who  are  eloping,  pursued  by  an  angry  parent 
who  telephones  to  the  station  in  order  to  intercept  the 
culprits.  In  an  impulsive  effort  to  help  out,  Ruth  and 
Lansing  assume  the  role  of  bride  and  groom ;  and,  under 
cover  of  this  pretence,  the  real  culprits  escape,  leaving 
their  rescuers  forcibly  detained  in  the  station. 

Identities  are  finally  discovered,  difficulties  are 
straightened  out,  and  Ruth  becomes  permanent  secre- 
tary to  the  celebrity. 


SYNOPSIS  FOR  PROGRAM 

ACT.  I.  Ruth  in  a  rush  —  to  obtain  a  secretary's 
position.  However,  she  finds  time  to  shock  an  am- 
bitious aunt,  to  accept  a  week-end  invitation,  to  dismiss 
two  persistent  suitors  and  to  advise  a  prospective  bride 
and  groom. 

ACT.  II.  Ruth  in  a  rush  —  for  a  train.  However, 
fate  decrees  that  she  and  Juliet  share  the  waiting  room 
with  two  fellow  travelers,  which  results  in  a  delightful 
confusion  of  identities,  elopers  and  lunatics. 

ACT.  III.     Ruth  in  a  rush  —  for  the  border  line. 


COSTUMES  AND  CHARACTERISTIC  S 

MRS.  BROWNELL  —  A  middle-aged  matron  whose  dig- 
nity of  manner  and  modishness  of  dress  marks  her 
as  a  grande  dame. 

JULIET  —  An  attractive  young  woman  of  great  poise 
and  vivacity,  whose  pretty  summer  frock  is  the  es- 
sence of  daintiness.  In  Act  II,  she  wrars  a  tail- 
ored suit  and  hat. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


RUTH  —  A  young  woman  of  winsome  personality  and 
distinct  individualit}T.  Wears  a  fluffy  summer 
gown  in  Act  I.  Tailored  suit  and  hat  in  Act  II. 

SUSIE  —  The  coquettish  type  and  is  most  attractive  in 
her  conventional  black  gown  with  its  sheer  white 
apron ;  its  white  collar  and  cuffs  and  its  dainty 
cap. 

BRUCE  —  A  rather  pompous  and  important  young  man, 
who  in  his  immaculate  summer  flannels,  radiates 
conventionality  and  self-esteem. 

ASHLEY  —  Approaching  middle  age  and  wears  a  correct 
tailored  business  suit.  But  a  closer  inspection 
shows  that  his  tie  is  a  little  too  gaudy,  his  scarf- 
pin  a  wee  bit  blatant  and  his  ring  a  trifle  conspicu- 
ous. 

LAMBERT  —  Resplendent  in  white  suit,  shoes  and  pan- 
ama.  The  irresponsible,  irrepressible  college  type 
in  I.  Attired  in  a  light  summer  suit,  long  motor 
coat  and  motor  cap  in  II. 

PEGGY  PAT  —  The  sweetest  kind  of  a  maiden,  attired  in 
a  dainty  beruffled  summer  gown,  crowned  with  a 
large  flower-laden  hat  and  carrying  a  distractingly 
gay  parasol  in  I.  Her  dainty  summer  gown  is  be- 
draggled and  a  long  dark  coat  has  not  wholly  pro- 
tected her  from  the  storm  in  II. 

LANSING  —  About  32.  Hair  at  the  temples  is  slightly 
touched  with  gray.  Impresses  one  with  a  quiet 
dignity.  Has  a  keen  sense  of  humor  coupled  with 
an  adaptability  and  a  certain  charm  of  manner 
which  gives  him  a  distinct  personality. 

GRANT  —  About  32.  Is  polished,  a  bit  languid,  a  trifle 
bored  and  quite  the  cosmopolitan. 

SADIE  —  Business-like  and  of  an  inquisitive  type.  In 
her  air  and  attire  there  is  an  imitation  of  city  ways 
and  city  fashions.  Her  hair  is  in  the  approved 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


style.  Her  plain  gingham  gown  is  trim  and 
and  relieved  by  white  collar  and  cuffs  but  her 
dangling  ear-rings  give  an  unexpected  and  rather 
outre  finish  to  her  appearance. 

JEAN  —  Wears  a  long  motor  coat  over  an  elaborate  din- 
ner gown  and  is  shrouded  in  a  motor  veil.  Attrac- 
tive personality.  Fashionable  in  the  extreme. 


LIST  OF  PROPERTIES 

ACT  I 

Settee  with  cushions. 

Table  with  bookrack,  books,  lamp,  vase  and  paper  knife. 

Desk  with  electrolier,  telephone,  desk  set  and  large  en- 
velope. 

Desk  chair. 

Typewriter  stand  and  chair. 

Manuscript. 

Large  chair  and  hassock. 

Portieres,  window  draperies,  rugs,  pictures,  etc. 

Push  button. 

Table,  two  chairs  and  awning  for  porch. 

Lorgnette  for  MRS.  BROWNELL. 

Book  for  JULIET. 

Bjasket  of  flowers  for  RUTH. 

Box  of  flowers,  note,  card  tray,  tray  of  lemonade  and 
glasses,  three  letters  and  telegram  for  SUSIE. 

Parasol  for  PEGGY  PAT. 


ACT  II 


Two  long  seats  or  benches. 
Stove  (flat  top  with  lid). 
Box  of  kindling  wood. 
Water  cooler. 
Map  and  calendar. 


8  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

Telephone  bell  and  telegraph  instrument  off  stage ;  also 
train  bell  and  whistle. 

Newspapers,  suit  case,  cigarette,  matches,  small  parcel 
of  tea,  lemon,  cheese  and  watch  for  GRANT.  Suit 
case,  money,  newspapers,  matches  and  knife  for 
LANSING. 

Tickets,  money,  handcuffs  for  SADIE. 

Umbrella,  traveling  bag  containing  large  tin  box  of 
marshmallows,  paper  drinking  cups  and  magazines 
for  RUTH. 

-%  Traveling  bag  containing  curling  tongs ;  wrist  watch, 
small  parcel  of  sugar,  box  of  crackers  and  hand- 
kerchief for  JULIET. 

ACT  III 

Handcuffs  for  SADIE. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


SCENE  PLOT 
ACT  I 


CHAIRD  (^J  DCHAIR 
TABLE  •" 


\ 


..  ""WINDOW  \ 

^/TYPEWRITER  X  u 

^  A 

C3HASSOCK TABLED  \ 


ACTS  II  and  III 


TICKET 
OFFICE 


SEAT 


WATER  COOLER, 


STOVE 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS 

R.  means  right  of  stage ;  C.,  center ;  R.  C.,  right  cen- 
ter; L.,  left;  1  E.,  first  entrance;  C7.  £.,  upper  en- 
trance ;  R.  2  E.,  right  entrance,  up  stage ;  D.  F.,  door  in 
flat,  or  scene  running  across  the  back  of  the  stage,  etc. ; 
up  stage,  away  from  footlights ;  down  stage,  near  foot- 
lights. The  actor  is  supposed  to  be  facing  the  audi- 
ence. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

THE   FIRST  ACT 

SCENE:  A  bright,  charming  room  in  HTTH  MOOSE'S 
residence  —  just  the  sort  of  a  room  that  possesses  an 
atmosphere  of  its  own.  The  few  good  pictures,  the 
rugs,  the  books  denote  culture  and  refinement;  and  the 
wicker  furniture  with  its  gay  chintz  cushions  gives  tone 
and  color.  At  C.  in  F.  wide-flung  French  windows 
reveal  a  shady  porch  with  green  and  white  awning,  on 
which  is  a  small  white  wicker  table  with  a  chair  on 
either  side.  Doors  with  chintz  portieres  down  R.  and 
L.  lead  to  the  back  and  to  the  front  of  the  house,  respec- 
tii-ely;  and,  left  of  the  porch  opening,  is  a  small  window 
with  chintz  draperies.  Xear  this  window  is  a  stand 
with  a  typewriter  —  and  on  the  stand  is  a  freshly 
typed  manuscript.  Right  of  the  French  window,  placed 
across  R.  U.  E.,  is  a  pretty  desk  with  desk  set,  electro- 
lier, telephone  and  desk  chair.  Down  R.  is  a  long  fet- 
tee  with  cushions  and  hassock;  find  down  L.,  a  table 
which  bears  book  rack,  lamp,  rase  and  paper  knife. 
Right  of  the  table  is  a  large  and  comfortable  chair. 

The  curtain  rises  upon  JULIET  curled  up  on  the  set- 
tee, reading,  and  MRS.  BROWXELL,  standing  by  type- 
writer,  examining  the  manuscript.  Jri.iKT  is  an  at- 
tractive young  woman  of  great  poise  and  vivacity, 
whose  pretty  summer  frock  is  the  essence  of  daintiness. 
MRS.  BROWXKI.I.  /.v  a  middle-aged  matron  whose  dignity 
of  manner  and  mvdishn-ess  of  dress  marks  her  as  a 
grande  dame.  A  frequently-used  lorgnette  adds  im- 
firessiveness  to  her  bearing. 

11 


12  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

MRS.  B.  (sharply).     Juliet? 

JULIET  (closing  her  book).     Yes,  Mrs.  Brownell. 

MRS.  B.  What  does  Ruth  mean  by  all  this  foolish- 
ness ? 

JULIET.     I  don't  believe  I  understand. 

MRS.  B.  Well  —  you  know  —  and  7  know  —  that  a 
typewriter  does  not  belong  in  this  room. 

JULIET  (rising  and  crossing  to  MRS.  BROWNELL). 
It's  here  —  just  temporarily.  Ruth  was  anxious  to 
finish  her  manuscript  and  thought  it  cooler  and  pleas- 
anter  to  do  the  work  in  this  room.  (Glances  around^) 
It  is  pleasanter. 

MRS.  B.  (tapping  manuscript  with  lorgnette).  What 
is  the  manuscript? 

JULIET.  A  charming  little  story  destined  to  capti- 
vate the  fancy  of  some  editor. 

MRS.  B.  Nonsense.  It  will  come  back  just  as  fast 
as  the  others  have  come.  (Throws  manuscript  upon 
stand.) 

JULIET.  I'd  rather  believe  that  —  this  time  —  it  will 
wing  its  way  straight  to  the  proper  market. 

MRS.  B.  (crossing  to  settee).  Why  does  Ruth  waste 
her  time  on  this  sort  of  thing? 

JULIET  (following).      Waste  her  time? 

MRS.  B.  When  she  might  be  making  the  most  of  her 
opportunities?  (Sits. ) 

JULIET.  Isn't  that  just  what  she  is  doing?  (Sits 
on  arm  of  chair,  right  of  table.) 

MRS.  B.  That  depends  upon  what  one  calls  oppor- 
tunities. With  her  fortune  she  might  be  a  central 
figure  in  the  social  world,  but  instead  of  having  a  few 
jewels  to  merit  comment  —  and  a  wardrobe  of  dashing 
costumes  — '-•  and  a  few  good-looking  cars — 

JULIET  (interrupting).     She  chooses  to  spend  it  on 


RUTH    IX  A   RUSH  13 

books,  pictures  and  travel.  (Lightly.)  Each  one  to 
her  own  taste,  you  know. 

MRS.  B.  And  you  happen  to  have  the  same  ridicu- 
lous ideas  in  regard  to  the  use  of  money,  Juliet. 
Sometimes  I  think  you  have  influenced  Ruth. 

JULIET  (laughing] if}.  It's  very  flattering  to  think 
that  I'm  as  important  as  that  —  but,  even  if  I  am 
Ruth's  best  friend  —  her  ideas  are  her  own. 

MRS.  B.  You  evolved  these  theories  when  you  were 
college  girls  together. 

JULIET.      But  then  I  had  the  right  to  evolve  theories 

-  for  money  wasn't  an  abstract  thing  to  me.      (Rises.) 

Xoic  —  I  am  merely  Miss  Moore's  private  secretary  — 

and  am  not  in  a  position  to  advise.      (Stands  back  of 

chair.) 

MRS.  B.  Don't  talk  foolishness,  Juliet.  Your  social 
status  is  quite  the  same. 

JULIET.      With  the  right  people  —  yi->. 

MRS.  B.  And  you  certainly  have  been  of  inestimable 
value  to  Ruth. 

JULIET.  I  hope  I  have.  Otherwise,  I  should  feel 
quite  guilty  over  the  generous  check  which  rewards  my 
services. 

MRS.  B.  How  could  she  have  managed  her  ava- 
lanche of  work  without  your  assistance? 

JULIET.  She  couldn't.  (Crosses  to  settee  and  sits 
at  MKS.  BROWNELL'S  left.) 

MRS.  B.  Or  superintended  the  thousand  and  one 
charities  in  which  she  is  interested? 

JULIET.  Nobody  can  attempt  the  impossible  —  and 
put  it  over  —  without  help. 

MRS.  B.  Attempt  the  impossible!  That  describes 
Ruth's  attitude  towards  things  in  general. 


14  RUTH   IX  A  RUSH 

JULIET.  I'm  afraid  it  does.  For  if  she  has  one  fault 
in  the  world  —  it's  being  in  a  rush. 

MRS.  B.  (sighing).  Ruth  in  a  rush  !  It  grows  very, 
very  tiresome. 

JULIET.  And  very  interesting.  For  you  must  ad- 
mit that  the  rush  is  in  behalf  of  the  best  things. 

MRS.  B.  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that  —  for  man  seems 
to  be  eliminated  from  her  program. 

JULIET.  Why  shouldn't  he  be?  I  said  —  the  best 
things. 

MRS.  B.  There  you  go,  Juliet  —  maligning  the  op- 
posite sex ! 

JULIET.      I'm  not  maligning. 

MRS.  B.  It's  the  same  thing.  What's  more,  Ruth 
shares  your  views. 

JULIET.  I  share  her  views,  you  mean.  Ruth's  opin- 
ions are  not  colored  by  those  of  anybody  else. 

MRS.  B.      It's  not  natural  for  a  girl  to  dislike  men. 

JULIET.     Ruth  doesn't  dislike  men. 

MRS.  B.     It's  not  politic  to  avoid  them. 

JULIET.      But  she  doesn't  avoid  them. 

MRS.  B.  Then  will  you  tell  me  why  she  assumes  such 
an  indifferent  attitude? 

JULIET.  She  simply  hasn't  time  for  them  - —  that's 
all. 

MRS.  B.     A  fine  distinction ! 

JULIET.     But  a  real  one  just  the  same. 

MRS.  B.  Naturally,  I  have  a  keen  responsibility  in 
regard  to  Ruth's  future  —  and  I  shall  never  feel  satis- 
fied until  she  contracts  a  suitable  marriage. 

JULIET.     But  she  has  plenty  of  time  for  —  that. 

MRS.  B.  I'm  not  so  sure.  Ruth  isn't  so  young  as 
she  once  was. 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  15 

JTLIET  (laughingly).  Hush!  For  I'm  the  saint- 
age,  exactly. 

MRS.  B.  Then  it's  high  time  that  both  of  you  weiv 
coming  to  your  sense>. 

JriJET  (after  a  panne}.  Ruth  can  never  abide  by 
the  same  schedule  which  proved  satisfactory  for  her 
sister. 

MRS.    B.      Unfortunately.      Jean    was    wholly    docile 

and  I  had  no  trouble  whatever  in  persuading  her  to  make 

a  proper  bow  to  society  and  to  marry  the  proper  man. 

As  Mrs.  Foster  she  is  just  what  she  was  destined  to  be 

—  a  popular  young  matron  in  a  very  exclusive  set. 

JriJET  (rising).  But  not  a  bit  different  from  ten 
million  other  young  matrons. 

MRS.  B.      Why  should  she  be  different? 

JTLIET.  Don't  you  realize  that  Ruth  isn't  that  type 
of  a  girl?  (Crosses  to  table  and  places  book  in  book- 
rack.  ) 

MRS.  B.  At  the  present  moment  I  realize  nothing 
but  the  fact  that  she  needs  to  settle  down  and  find  a 
husband. 

.JruKT  ( turning  and  leaning  upon  table).      Ruth  will 
never  settle  down  that  way.      And  as  to  the  husband 
well,  he'll  be  obliged  to  sweep  her  off  her  feet  before  she 
knows  it  —  if  he  wishes  to  win  her  heart. 

Mas.  B.  Nonsense!  Self  respecting  husbands  don't 
do  that  sort  of  thing. 

JT--UET.  But  Ruth's  husband  must  be  a  wee  bit  dif- 
ferent. 

Mns.  B.  Different?  Who  ever  heard  of  a  different 
hi'>band!  They're  all  alike  —  just  as  alike  as  two 
peas  in  a  'pod. 

Jri.IF.T.       I   don't   believe  it. 

MRS.  B.      Then  marry  and  find  out. 


16  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

JULIET.  If  every  husband  is  like  every  other  hus- 
band, why  in  the  world  should  a  girl  want  —  ever, - 
body's  husband? 

MRS.  B.      I  don't  know  why  —  but  she  does. 

RUTH  enters  from  porch.  She  wears  a  fluffy  sunnncr 
gown,  carries  a  basket  of  garden  flowers,  and  impresses 
you  at  once  as  a  young  woman  of  winsome  personality 
and  distinct  individuality.  As  the  play  goes  on,  you 
will  note  her  keen  sense  of  humor,  her  quickness,  her 
independence  and  her  lovableness. 

JULIET    (emphatically}.     Well,   this   one   doesn't  — 
and  she  never  has  —  and  she  never  will ! 

RUTH  (at  porch  door}.  Good  gracious!  What  in- 
spired this  Declaration  of  Independence? 

JULIET.  It  isn't  a  Declaration  of  Independence. 
It's  an  Emancipation  Proclamation. 

RUTH.     Emancipation  —  from  what? 

JULIET  (meeting  her  at  C.).     Husbands! 

RUTH  (reprovingly).  Aunt  Jessica,  you've  been  at 
it  again.  (Comes  to  back  of  settee  as  telephone  rings). 
Won't  you  place  these  in  the  vase  for  me?  (Goes  to 
desk  and  seats  herself.  MRS.  BROWNELL  crosses  to  ta- 
ble, arranges  flowers  in  vase  and,  later  on,  gives  basket 
to  SUSIE  to  carry  out.) 

Enter  SUSIE  from  L.  with  box  of  flowers  and  note. 
She  is  of  the  coquettish  type  and  is  most  attractive  in 
her  conventional  black  gown  with  its  sheer  white  apron, 
its  white  collar  and  cuffs  and  its  dainty  cap. 

SUSIE  (at  C.).     Flowers,  Miss  Ruth. 
RUTH     (indifferently).     Lay     them     down,     Susie 
(SusiE  lays  box  on  table.) 
.  SUSIE.      But  there's  a  note  — 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  17 

i 

RTTH.      Lay  that  down,  too. 

STSIK.  And  the  messenger  is  waiting  for  an  answer. 
(Lays  note  on  table.) 

RUTH  (taking  up  the  receiver).  Oh,  bother!  (To 
JULIET.)  Open  the  note,  Jule.  (Into  telephone.) 
Y«-s?  This  is  Miss  Moore.  Yes,  Mr.  Ashley.  I  rec- 
ogni/e  your  voice.  (Placing  hand  over  receiver  an 
JUI.IKT  opens  note.)  Leonard  Bruce  I  suppose? 

JULIET  (glancing  orer  note).  Yes.  He  wants  to 
call  this  afternoon. 

RUTH  (into  telephone).  What  is  that?  Oh,  I  rec- 
ognize anybody's  voice  —  it's  quite  a  gift.  (To  SU- 
SIE.) Send  word  that  I  shall  expect  him. 

.1  ILIET.  Oh,  Ruth  —  how  horrid  to  answer  verbally. 
(To  SUSIE.)  Wait  —  I'll  write  a  note.  (Crosses  to 
desk. ) 

RUTH  (into  telephone).  Pardon  me  —  I  didn't  get 
your  last  sentence.  Yes,  I'll  be  home  all  afternoon. 
Oh,  anv  time.  Very  well.  Goodbye.  (Slams  receiver 
on  hook.)  There!  (Rises  and  crosses  to  C.  JULIET 
immediately  seats  herself  at  desk  and  begins  to  write.) 

MRS.  B.  (taking  box  from  table).  Shall  I  open  the 
box? 

RUTH.  Please  don't.  The  sight  of  another  orchid 
would  prove  my  undoing. 

MRS.  B.      But  you  don't  know  that  they're  orchids. 

RUTH.  Oh,  but  I  do  know.  They've  been  orchids 
every  time  —  and  the  man  couldn't  think  up  a  new 
flower  if  he  tried. 

MRS.  B.  (severely).  Almost  any  girl  would  be  flat- 
tered by  his  choice.  An  orchid  is  surely  the  most  culti- 
vated product  of  the  conservatory  — 

RUTH.     And  thrives  upon  hot  air.     Well,  so  does  he. 


18  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

• 

JULIET  (rising  and  coming  to  C. ).  Here's  the  note 
for  the  messenger,  Susie. 

SUSIE  (as  she  takes  the  note).  Yes,  Miss  Juliet, 
(Starts  to  go.) 

RUTH.     And  Susie? 

SUSIE.     Yes,  Miss  Ruth. 

RUTH.  Do  you  happen  to  be  attending  anything  of 
a  social  nature  tonight? 

SUSIE.     A  dance,  Miss  Ruth. 

RUTH.  Then  orchids  will  be  the  very  thing.  (Takes 
bov  from  MRS.  B.  and  thrusts  it  into  SUSIE'S  hands.) 

SUSIK.     Oh,  Miss  Ruth- — I  can't  — 

RUTH.     You  must  —  • 

SUSIK.      But  — 

RUTH.      If  your  lover  has  already  sent  you  flowers, 
present   this   corsage   effect   to   the   chaperon.      It   will 
make    a    hit.      (As    SUSIE   protests.)      S"ot    a    word  — 
(pushes  her)  — hurry.      (Exit  SUSIE  at  L.) 

MRS.  B.  That's  hardly  fair  to  Mr.  Bruce,  Ruth. 
(Sits  right  of  table.) 

RUTH.  He'll  never  know.  (Sits  on  left  arm  of  set- 
tee.) 

JULIET  (leaning  over  back  of  settee).  Oh,  won't 
he?  Why,  he'll  look  for  those  flowers  the  very  first 
thing. 

RUTH.      Not  when  he  can  look  at  me,  my  dear. 

MRS.  B.  (eagerly).     Ruth  —  do  you  mean  that  — 

RUTH.      Don't   get   excited,   Aunt   Jessica.      I   mean 
that  Leonard  Bruce  has  eyes  only  for  the  dollar  sign  — 
and  that's  what  I  am  to  him  —  a  nice,  animated  dollar 
sign. 

MRS.  B.  You're  not  kind,  Ruth.  His  family  tra- 
ditions — 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  19 

RUTH  (interrn.ptin(/).  I'm  not  fond  enough  of  fam- 
ily traditions  to  give  them  financial  hacking. 

.In.iF.T.  Then  why  encourage  him  by  allowing  him 
to  call  this  afternoon? 

RUTH.      That.  Juliet  —  is  my  own  deep,  dark  secret. 

MKS.  B.  (pettishly).  Ruth!  I  won't  permit  you  to 
make  that  man  the  victim  of  any  practical  joke. 

RUTH.  There's  safety  in  numbers.  You  forget 
that  I've  just  asked  Wayne  Ashley  to  join  the  party. 

JULIET.      Well,  surely  lie  isn't  after  your  money. 

RUTH.  Hardly.  His  bank  account  is  even  more 
substantial  than  my  own. 

MRS.  B.      Then  in  what  respect  is  lie  lacking? 

RUTH.      Family  traditions  —  and  social  position. 

JULIET.      And  he  expects  you  to  supply  both? 

Ri'TH.  Exactly.  Naturally,  I  resent  the  job  of 
Universal  Supply  Depot. 

MRS.  B.  You're  too  ridiculously  particular,  Ruth. 
This  attitude  will  never  get  you  anywhere. 

RUTH.      By  ant/where  meaning  —  matrimony? 

MRS.  B.      Well,  yes.      Matrimony. 

RUTH  (airily).  Matrimony,  my  dear  aunt,  is  only  a 
sub-station  in  my  main  line  of  travel.  And  I  haven't 
time  even  to  stop  off. 

MRS.  B.  Xot  everybody  can  arrange  the  train 
schedule. 

RUTH.      Well,  not  everybody  is  in  such  a  rush  as  I. 

MRS.  B.      Fortunately. 

RUTH.  Perhaps  so.  But  you  see,  auntie  dear,  I'm 
not  so  interested  in  the  traveling  as  in  the  arriving. 
(Kiscs  and  rro.y.sv.v  to  typewriter. ) 

MRS.    B.      Arrhi-ng? 

RUTH  (li'ariiHj  manuscript).      Have  you  seen  this' 


20  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

MRS.  B.  (turning  head).  Oh,  that's  what  you  mean! 
Well,  even  a  rush  won't  insure  a  literary  arrival. 

RUTH.     Have  you  looked  —  carefully  —  at  this  ? 

MRS.  B.  Why  should  I?  It's  probably  just  like  a 
score  of  others. 

RUTH.  But,  Aunt  Jessica  —  the  typing!  (Leans 
over  back  of  MRS.  BROWNELL'S  chair.) 

MRS.  B.  (glancing  carelessly  at  manuscript).     Oh  — 
the  typing  is  good  enough. 

RUTH.  Good  enough!  It's  perfect  —  and  I  did  it 
all  by  myself. 

MRS.  B.  (impatiently).  Why  do  you  spend  your 
time  at  the  typewriter  — 

RUTH.  When  Jule  can  do  it  for  me?  Simply  be- 
cause I  do  it  just  as  well  as  Jule. 

JULIET.     Better. 

RUTH.     Modesty  forbade  me  to  say  that,  of  course. 

JULIET.     You  see,  Mrs.  Brownell,  I've  been  teaching 
Ruth  all  I  know  —  and  the  pupil  has  outstripped  the 
•  teacher. 

RUTH  (gaily).  You  should  just  watch  me  take 
Jule's  dictation  !  And  as  to  typing  —  positively,  I've 
reached  the  speed  limit. 

MRS.  B.  But  what  good  will  it  do  you?  And  why 
do  you  waste  your  time  when  — 

RUTH.  I  might  be  doing  social  stunts?  (Hesi- 
tates. ) 

MRS.  B.     Well? 

RUTH.  Because  —  now,  auntie,  I  warn  you  — 
you're  in  for  a  shock  — 

MRS.  B.  (coldly).     Go  on. 

RUTH.  Because  I  am  fitting  myself  for  somebody's 
secretary. 

MRS.  B.   (after  a  pause).     I  don't  believe  I  under- 


RUTH  TX  A  RUSH  21 

stood  you,  Ruth.  In  fact,  I'm  quite  sure  I  didn't  un- 
derstand you. 

RTTH.      Oh,  yes,  you  did.  Aunt  Jessica. 

MRS.  B.      Somebody's  secretary! 

RUTH.  Exactly.  (Sits  on  arm  of  MRS.  BROW- 
XEI,I/S  chair.) 

MRS.  B.      It's  preposterous! 

RTTH.  It's  fun.  I'm  going  to  be  like  real  people  — 
I  intend  to  have  my  chance  —  and  what's  more,  I'm  de- 
termined to  make  a  success  of  it. 

MRS.  B.      You're  crazy  —  downright  cra/y. 

RTTH.  Oh,  no,  I'm  not.  On  the  contrary,  I've  just 
come  to  my  senses. 

MRS.  B.  I've  been  exceedingly  patient  with  you, 
Ruth,  and  you've  been  very  trying  in  many  ways.  But 
this  is  too  much  —  and  you  shall  not  do  it ! 

Ri'Tir.  Too  late,  auntie.  I've  already  applied  for  a 
position. 

MRS.  B.  (with  an  effort).      Who  —  is  —  the  —  man? 

RVTH.      You  sound  just  like  the  ghost  in  Hamlet. 

MRS.  B.      Don't  evade  my  question. 

KITH.  I'm  not  evading  it  —  for  I  don't  know  the 
man  as  yet.  You  see,  I  haven't  quite  landed  my  job. 

MRS.  B.  (shuddering).  Don't  express  yourself  in 
that  ordinary  way.  (Pauses.)  To  whom  have  you 
a}) plied  '" 

RVTH.      To  Gilbert  Lansing. 

MRS.  B.      And  who  is  Gilbert  Lansing.' 

RUTH.  Auntie,  if  you  weren't  so  funny  I'd  lecture 
you  severely  upon  your  ignorance.  Not  to  know  Gil- 
bert Lansing  argues  yourself  unknown. 

MRS.  B.      I  never  heard  of  him. 

Rt'TH.      Then  don't  tell  it   to  anvbodv  else.      He  is 


22  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

the  author  of  the  great  book  of  the  year  —  and  he  is 
also  editor  of  the  Pacific  Weekly. 

MRS.  B.     Disgusting! 

RUTH.  To  be  editor  of  the  Pacific  Weekly?  Oh, 
auntie ! 

MRS.  B.  To  imagine  that  a  big  man  could  possibly 
need  your  services  !  (JULIET  crosses  back  to  settee  and 
seats  herself  down  stage  on  hassock.) 

RUTH.  Oh,  I'm  wonderfully  recommended.  Jule 
saw  to  that. 

MRS.  B.  And  how  do  you  know  he  wants  a  secre- 
tary ? 

RUTH.     Jule  has  a  friend  who  is  a  go-between. 

MRS.  B.  (abruptly).     Is  he  young? 

RUTH.     Who  —  the  friend?     He's  a  she. 

MRS.  B.  You  know  who  I  mean.  This  Gilbert  Lan- 
sing. 

RUTH.  We've  heard  that  he  is  old  —  and  sarcastic 
—  and  very  disagreeable. 

MRS.  B.  Then  why  on  earth  should  you  want  to  go 
to  him? 

RUTH.  Auntie,  you're  so  trying!  One  moment  you 
are  afraid  that  he  is  young  —  and  the  next  you  are 
cross  because  he  isn't ! 

MRS.  B.     Why  did  you  choose  — -  him? 

RUTH.  Because  he  is  a  literary  light  —  and  any  as- 
sociation with  a  literary  light  must  necessarily  be  of 
great  benefit  to  me  in  my  work. 

MRS.  B.  (scornfidly}.     Do  you  think  you  can  write? 

RUTH.  I  intend  to  try.  (Rises  and  walks  to  back 
of  settee.) 

MRS.  B.     Where  does  this  —  creature  —  live? 

RUTH.  In  Kensington.  So  I  won't  be  far  aVay. 
Juliet  and  I  have  already  selected  our  apartment. 


Rl'Tll   IN   A    Kl'SH  23 

MKS.  B.      Juliet? 

RTTH.  Of  course.  She  is  to  help  me  out  in  my  dual 
personality. 

MBS.  B.      What  do  you  mean? 

Ri'TH.  That  to  my  future  employer  I  shall  be  only 
Ruth  MacT)onald,  the  model  secretary  —  not  Ruth 
Moore,  the  dollar  sign. 

MKS.  B.  It  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  there  will  he 
some  disguise.  (Suddenly.}  Hut,  of  course,  there\ 
the  chance  that  he  won't  want  you. 

RITH.  Then  somebody  else  icill.  For  I'm  pledged 
to  a  life  of  usefulness.  (CodJ'hujIy. )  Come  now,  Auni 
.Jessica,  be  a  sport  and  wish  me  luck. 

Mrs.  B.  I'll  wish  you  nothing  of  the  sort.  You're 
a  great  . trial,  Ruth  —  a  great  disappointment  —  and 
from  this  time  on,  I  shall  not  interest  myself  in  your 
career.  (Hise*  and  crosses  to  back  of  staye.)  You 
have  splendid  opportunities  —  you  choose  to  ignore 
them  I-TT  so,  wjHch  out.  On  your  main  line  of  travel.  a> 
you  are  pleased  to  call  it.  there  may  be  such  a  thing  as 
—  a  wreck!  (Flounces  tnif/rily  out  at  L.) 

RUTH  (after  a  panne) .  Dear  me!  Even  my  feeble 
intelligence  grasps  the  fact  that  she  is  —  provoked. 

Jri.iKT.  Why  shouldn't  she  be?  She  had  made 
other  plans  for  you  —  and  you  are  a  bit  irritating  at 
times,  Ruth. 

RI-TH.      A'/   tu.  Brute!      (Sit it  ri(/ht  of  table.} 

JruET.      She  had  visions  of  you  as  a  social  succi---. 

Rt  TH.      But   I'll  be  some  other  kind  of  a  success. 

Jri.iKT.      You   don't    know   that    you   will. 

RITH.  And  some  day  my  name  will  be  —  oh,  just  a 
little  famous  ! 

.Iii. 1 1  T.      Don't  be  too  sure. 


24  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

RUTH.  And  all  my  loving  family  will  be  pretty  glad 
that  I  was  not  checked  in  my  chosen  career. 

JULIET.     You're  imagining  things. 

RUTH.  Cassandra  is  your  middle  name,  isn't  it? 
(Holds  up  the  manuscript.)  Well  —  what  do  you 
think  of  it? 

JULIET.  It's  the  best  thing  you've  done, —  just  be- 
cause it's  human. 

RUTH.     What   do   you  mean  by  —  human? 

JULIET.  Well- —  for  one  thing —  what  happened  to 
your  heroine  might  have  happened  to  any  one  of  us  ; 
and  we  in  turn  might  have  talked  and  thought  and  acted 
just  as  she  did. 

RUTH  (eagerly).     Yes? 

JULIET.  And  you've  taken  everyday  people  and 
everyday  events  and  everyday  feelings  —  things  that 
we  all  appreciate.  Of  course  I  don't  know  the  tech- 
nique of  writing,  Ruth,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  one's 
power  lies  in  perfect  understanding  of  one's  subject. 

RUTH.  That's  what  Gilbert  Lansing  says. 
(Calmly.)  I  hate  that  man. 

JULIET.     You  have  no  right  to  hate  him. 

RUTH.  Oh,  haven't  I?  Didn't  I  meekly  ask  him  for 
a  little  note  of  criticism  when  I  submitted  my  manu- 
script—  and  didn't  he  respond  with  a  perfect  volley 
of  horrid,  sarcastic  remarks  about  my  characters  and 
my  style  and  my  philosophy? 

JULIET.     You  asked  him  for  criticism,  didn't  you? 

RUTH,     But  I  didn't  expect  it. 

JULIET.  Not  many  editors  would  have  taken  the  time 
and  the  trouble  for  a  personal  note.  You  should  be 
grateful  for  the  distinction. 

RUTH.  But  I  don't  see  everything  from  his  view- 
point ? 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  25 

JULIET.     Just  what  in  his  viewpoint? 

RUTH.  Wait  —  I'll  get  the  letter.  (Rims  to  desk 
and  returns  with  large  envelope.)  First,  he  maligns 
my  heroine.  (Takes  letter  /row  envelope  and  sits  on 
settee.) 

JULIET.  If  I  remember  correctly,  she  was  a  bit 
queer  — not  exactly  in  our  set.  (Rises  and  sits  by 
RUTH.) 

RUTH.  Listen.  (Heads.)  Leona  is  unequalled  — 
not  only  in  literature  but  in  real  life.  Not  on  land  and 
not  on  sea  could  one  find  her  prototype.  You  have  suc- 
ceeded in  perpetrating  a  character  who,  psychologically 
and  otherwise,  defies  every  trait  attributed  to  charming 
femininity.  (Puts  down  letter.)  Now,  what  do  you 
call  that'? 

JII.IKT.      I  call  it  howlingly  funny. 

RUTH.      I     call     it  —  impudent.     Again — (reads). 

Don't    describe   your    heroine   as    a    mystery    to    every 

woman.   •  My  dear  young  lady  —  now,  Jule,  how  did  he 

know  that  when  I  signed  a  man's  name  —  John  Chester 

—  to   the  story  '' 

Jn.iKT  (laughing).      Give  it  up. 

RUTH  (continuing  the  letter).  My  dear  young  lady, 
don't  you  know  that  a  woman  may  be  a  mystery  to  a 
man  but  never  to  another  woman?  (Puts  down  letter.) 
Horrid  old  man  —  I  don't  suppose  he  knows  one  thing 
about  the  opposite  sex. 

JULIET.      Did  your  hero  escape? 

KITH.  Escape?.  With  a  noose  around  his  neck. 
Listen  to  this.  (Reads.)  Give  Horace  some  distin- 
guishing characteristic.  As  you  have  delineated  him, 
he  might  be  a  United  States  senator,  a  patent  medicine 
h-trker  or  the  floor  walker  at  some  department  store. 


26  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

(Angrily.)  As  I  said  before,  Juliet,  I  hate  Gilbert 
Lansing. 

JULIET.     Anything  else? 

RUTH.  .Anything  else?  The  fabric  of  my  manu- 
script is  but  a  torn  and  tattered  thing.  Give  ear  to 
this  advice  concerning  my  villain.  (Reads.}  Don't 
restore  Hugo's  wife  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  fortune.  The 
average  man  would  rather  lose  a  dozen  wives  than  a 
dozen  dollars.  (Puts  down  letter.)  Juliet,  that  man 
has  been  disappointed  in  love  —  he's  a  woman  hater. 

JULIET.     He's  delicious. 

RUTH.  And  this  (continuing  to  read).  Don't  let 
the  mother  spout  maxims  and  apothegms  to  the  maid. 
The  servant  problem  is  bad  enough  as  it  is.  (Sarcas- 
tically.) That's  a  feeble  attempt  to  be  funny. 

JULIET.  There's  nothing  feeble  about  that  man, 
Ruth. 

RUTH.  And  in  regard  to  my  ending  —  Jule,  you  re- 
member my  ending,  don't  you?  Tragic,  gruesome,  and 
the  heroine  plunging  from  a  precipice  into  the  dashing 
waves?  Well  —  hear  the  censor—  (Reads.)  The 
average  reader  doesn't  care  what  happens  to  the  hero 
and  the  heroine  just  so  long  as  they  are  clasped  in  each 
other's  arms  when  the  story  ends.  In  popular  litera- 
ture only  villains  die  —  and  unfortunate  husbands 
whose  wives  are  in  love  with  other  men.  Otherwise,  it's 
hard  upon  digestion. 

JULIET.  I  think  he  rather  enjoyed  writing  that 
criticism,  Ruth. 

RUTH.  Oh,  do  you?  Well,  I  didn't  enjoy  reading 
it.  Just  wait  until  I  get  a  chance  at  him. 

JULIET".  You  may  not  have  the  opportunity.  Re- 
member that  he  hasn't  engaged  you  —  yet  — 

RUTH.     But  if  he  does  — 


rUTH  IX  A  RUSH  27 

Jn.iKT.  You  must  also  remember  that  he  is  an  old 
man  —  and  be  accordingly  deferential. 

Enter  SUSIE  from  L. 

SUSIE  (crossing  to  RUTH).     The  mail,  Miss  Ruth. 

RUTH  (as  she  takes  letters  from  tray).  Thank  you, 
Susie.  (As  SUSIE  turns.)  And  Susie  — 

SUSIE.     Yes,  Miss  Ruth? 

RUTH.  Bring  some  lemonade  to  the  porch  table. 
We  expect  callers  later  on.  (Exit  Srsn:  at  R.)  Two 
letters  for  you,  Jule —  (ha mix  them  to  her)  and  one  for 
me,  postmarked  Willowdene.  (Crosses  to  table,  takes 
her  paper  knife  and  returns  to  former  position.) 

JULIET.  Jean  chose  a  pretty  station  name  for  her 
summer  home. 

KITH  (slitting  the  envelope).  Willowdene  ig  a 
pretty  name  —  and  a  pretty  place  —  but  it  is  fright- 
fully inconvenient.  (Gives  knife  to  JULIET.) 

JII.IKT.      Why  so?      (Opens  her  letters.) 

RUTH.  The  roads  for  motoring  are  bad  —  and  any- 
way it's  too  far.  Then  if  you  go  by  train,  there's  a 
ridiculous  little  station  where  you  wait  hours  in  order 
to  connect  with  a  local.  And  half  the  time  the  local  is 
late  —  so  there's  no  definite  schedule  to  rely  upon. 

JUMKT.  That  does  make  a  difference.  (Glances  at 
her  letters.) 

RUTH  (as  she  open*  her  letter).  The  usual  brief 
epistle,  I  see.  .lean  is  always  so  busy  with  maids  and 
babies  and  sewing  and  house-parties  that  she  hasn't 
time  to  send  a  real  letter  to  her  family.  Always  in  a 
rush. 

JULIET.      Well  - — you're  always  in  a  rush. 

RUTH.      But  mine  is  a  different  sort  of  rush.     To  fol- 


28  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

low  the  mechanism  of  Jean's  domestic  machinery  is  like 
watching  a  three-ringed  circus. 

JULIET.  She  probably  thinks  your  routine  just  as 
nerve  racking. 

RUTH.  Doubtless.  (Silence  for  a  few  moments  as 
each  reads  her  mail. )  I  knew  it ! 

JULIET.     Knew  what? 

RUTH.  That  the  stage  is  once  more  being  set  for  a 
love  scene.  I'm  invited  —  nay,  commanded  —  to  spend 
next  week  end  —  or  as  much  longer  as  I'll  stay  —  at 
Willowdene. 

JTLIET.     Nothing  strange  about  that. 

RUTH.  But  there  are  two  other  guests  —  friends  of 
my  respected  brother-in-law  —  and  this  is  where  the 
plot  thickens.  No  names  are  given  —  but  one  is  In-r- 
aided as  distinguished  —  and  the  other  as  fascinating 
—  and  a  millionaire ! 

JULIET.     Are  you  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone? 

RUTH.  That's  too  much  for  my  family  to  expect. 
They're  doubtless  hoping  that  if  one  fails  to  be  hypno- 
tized by  my  charms,  the  other  will  capitulate.  Why  is 
it,  Jule,  that  my  doting  relatives  are  so  anxious  to 
marry  me  off? 

JULIET.     What  does  it  say  about  the  millionaire? 

RUTH  (referring  to  letter).  Fascinating  —  oh,  I 
told  you  that  —  clever  —  very  traveled  —  and  —  (joy- 
fully) —  Hooray,  hooray- — you're  invited,  too! 

JULIET  (dropping  her  letters).  How  perfectly 
splendid ! 

RUTH.  Now  it  will  be  real,  fun !  (Jumps  up  and 
pulls  JULIET  from  settee.)  I  hand  over  to  you,  forth- 
with, all  the  chances  I  might  have  with  the  millionaire. 
(Swings  her  around.) 

JULIET    (as    they   reseat    themselves   on   settee).     A 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  29 

millionaire   sounds   good   to   me.     When   do   we   start? 

RUTH.  Friday  next  —  if  I'm  not  summoned  before 
then  by  my  new  employer.  In  such  a  contingency  — 
you  go  alone. 

JULIET.  Indeed  I  don't.  But  —  don't  worry  — 
for  Mr.  Lansing  is  not  apt  to  want  you  before  then. 

KITH.  I  hope  not.  (Sighs.)  The  question  is  — 
will  he  want  me  at  all? 

JULIET.  He  has"  applied  for  a  secretary  —  and  my 
friend  whose  establishment  is  very  reliable  has  enthusi- 
astically endorsed  you.  So  you  ought  to  get  it. 

Enter  SUSIE  from  R.  with  tray  of  lemonade  and 
glasses  which  she  places  on  porch  table,  then  comes  to  C. 

SUSIE.  Excuse  me,  Miss  Ruth,  but  Mr.  Bruce  is 
coming  up  the  driveway. 

RUTH.  Good  gracious  —  I'd  forgotten  all  about 
Mr.  Bruce.  I'll  see  him  here,  Susie. 

SUSIE.     Yes,  Miss  Ruth.      (K.vit  at  /,.) 

RUTH.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  excitement  I've  for- 
gotten to  reveal  to  you  my  method  of  attack  upon  the 
approaching  victim.  Just  follow  my  cues  and  you'll 
be  all  right. 

JULIET   (rising}.      But — Ruth — 

RUTH.  Agree  to  everything  I  say  —  and  when  I 
raise  my  handkerchief  to  my  eyes  — -  so  —  it's  your  sig- 
nal to  depart. 

Enter  Sr.sii-:  at  L.,  followed  by  LEONARD  BRUTE,  a 
rather  pompous  and  important  young  man  who,  in  his 
immaculate  summer  flannels,  radiates  conventional  it// 
and  self-esteem. 

SUSIK.      Mr.  Bruce.      (Exit  at  L.} 

RUTH    (meeting   him    at    L.    with    both    hands    out- 


30  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

stretched).     How  splendid  of  you  to  arrive  just  when 
you're  most  needed. 

BRUCE  (a*,  with  RUTH,  he  crosses  to  JULIET  at  C.). 
That's  the  very  finest  welcome  a  fellow  could  have. 
(Greets  JULIET.)  But  how  can  I  possibly  be  of  use  to 
you  ? 

RUTH.  You'll  soon  find  out.  (Rushes  him  to  chair 
right  of  table.)  There  —  sit  down  —  and  Juliet  and  I 
will  take  the  settee.  (Sits  at  left  end  of  settee.) 

JULIET.  Not  until  I  bring  Mr.  Bruce  some  lemon- 
ade. (Goes  to  porch  where  she  slowly  fills  a  glass  with 
lemonade. ) 

BRUCE  (leaning  forward  and  whispering).     Ruth  — 
ever  since  last  night  — 

RUTH.     Yes  —  last  night  — 

BRUCE.  I've  been  hoping  that  you  will  give  me  my 
answer  this  afternoon. 

RUTH.     You  shall  have  your  answer  this  afternoon. 

BRUCE.     Will  it  be  —  the  right  one? 

RUTH  (softly).  I  think  —  it  will.  (Sentimen- 
tally.) It's  very  wonderful  that  some  one  like  you 
should  care  for  —  inc. 

BRUCE  (consciously).     Oh,  don't  put  it  that  way! 

RUTH.     Why  not? 

BRUCE.  Because  there  may  be  lots  of  other  men  — 
just  like  me. 

RUTH.  Impossible.  (Sighs.)  And  then  —  your 
family ! 

BRUCE  (arrogantly).     Came  over  in  the  Mayflower. 

RUTH  (as  JULIET  approaches).  History  can't  be 
trusted  a  bit  —  can  it  ?  We're  taught  that  compar- 
atively few  took  passage  on  that  sacred  boat  —  and 
posterity  has  proved  that  thousands  thronged  the  decks. 

BRUCE  (suspiciously).     What  do  you  mean  by  that? 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  31 

JULIKT.  Nothing  at  all.  Ruth  is  hardly  herself  to- 
day. 

(BRUCE  rises  as  he  takes  the  proffered  glass.) 

BRUCE  (significantly).  I  wonder  why.  (Flourishes 
glass.)  To  your  health  —  each  of  you! 

RUTH  (gloomily).  We  need  it.  It's  been  a  most 
trying  day  —  hasn't  it,  Jule? 

JULIET  (crossing  back  to  settee  and  seating  herself 
by  RUTH).  Oh  —  very! 

BRUCE  (as  he  resumes  his  chair).  Now  what  could 
happen  to  make  it  trying?  Perhaps  a  new  gown  didn't 
fit. 

RUTH.     Worse  than  that. 

BRUCE  (settling  back  in  the  chair  and  lazily  sipping 
the  lemonade).  Or  did  somebody  beat  you  to  the  bi--t 
looking  hat  in  the  window .- 

RUTH  (after  a  pause).  Haven't  you  heard,  Mr. 
Bruce,  that  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death? 

BRUCE.  Good  gracious !  I  hope  that  nothing  has 
happened,  that  — 

RUTH.  Oh,  no  —  nothing  like  that.  What  I  meant 
to  add  was  that  —  in  the  midst  of  riches  we  are  in 
poverty. 

BRUCE  (slowly  straightening).     I  don't  understand. 

RUTH.  Of  course  you  couldn't  —  but — -well  —  to- 
day came  a  dreadful  letter  informing  me  that  — ( turns  ) 
Jule,  you  tell  him  what  was  in  the  letter. 

JULIET  (tactfully).  Don't  you  think  it's  better  for 
you  to  break  the  new.>  - 

RUTH.  Perhaps  so.  (Touches  her  eyes  icith  her 
handkerchief). 

JULIKT  (hastily).  Then, I'll  leave  you  —  for  a  little 
while.  (Rises,  crosses  back  of  settee  to  BRUCE  and 


32  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

whispers. )      Be  very  gentle  with  her  —  for  her  nerves 
are  all  unstrung.      (Exit  through  porch,  to  right.) 

RUTH.  This  letter,  Mr.  Bruce  —  or  I  may  call  you 
Leonard  now  —  may  I  not? 

BRUCE  (nervously).     Yes — of  course.     Go  on. 

RUTH.  Well,  this  letter  brought  the  fearful  news 
that  my  fortune  has  been  swept  away — (pauses)'  — 
quite  away. 

BRUCE.  There  —  there  must  be  some  mistake. 
(With  shaking  hand  he  places  the  unfinished  glass  of 
lemonade  upon  the  table.) 

RUTH.  Oh,  I  wish  it  were  —  but  it's  quite  true  — 
an9  instead  of  being  a  dollar  sign  I'm  only  —  a  zero. 

BRUCE.  Great  heavens!  (Pauses.)  Perhaps  it's 
only  a  passing  flurry  in  the  market  —  such  things  often 
happen,  you  know. 

RUTH.  The  letter  gives  me  no  hope  of  anything 
transitory. 

BRUCE.     And  it  represents  all  your  fortune? 

RUTH.  Quite  all.  (After  a  moment.)  Now  do 
you  see  why  you  came  just  at  the  right  time? 

BRUCE  (in  confusion).     No  —  I  confess  I  don't. 

RUTH.  Why,  Leonard  —  don't  you  understand  that 
I'm  giving  you  your  answer  —  and  that  it  is  the  answer 
you  —  want  ? 

BRUCE  (miserably).     But  —  wait  — 

RUTH.  And  that  now  I  don't  dread  the  future  since 
I  have  —  you  —  to  take  care  of  me? 

BRUCE.     I'm  a  poor  man,  Ruth. 

RUTH.  But  I  don't  mind  poverty  a  bit  —  and  I'd  so 
much  rather  have  it  with  you  —  than  by  myself. 

BRUCE.  I  can't  give  you  the  things  to  which  you've 
been  accustomed. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  33 

RUTH.  Could  you  have  done  —  that  —  last  night 
when  you  asked  me  to  marry  you? 

BRUCE.      No  —  but  — 

RUTH  (quietly).     I  had  the  money.      I  see. 

BRUCE.  You  don't  see  —  you  —  why,  hang  it  all, 
Ruth,  you  wouldn't  be  happy  with  me  —  don't  you  un- 
derstand? 

RUTH.  I  understand.  For  you've  just  insinuated 
that  you  could  marry  me  with  a  fortune  —  but  not 
without. 

BRUCE.  That's  not  what  I  mean.  But,  nowadays, 
conditions  are  different  —  living  expenses  are  higher  — 

RUTH.  And  my  money  could  have  helped  out.  I'm 
sorry  to  disappoint  you. 

BRUCE.  And  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you  —  I  know 
it  must  hurt. 

RUTH  (in  surprise).  Disappoint  me?  (As  hit 
meaning  dawns  upon  her.)  Disappoint  me!  (Hides 
her  head  in  cushions  to  conceal  her  mirth.) 

BRUCE  (rising).  Oh,  say  now — don't  take  it  like 
that  —  you'll  find  somebody  else,  maybe,  just  like  me  — 

RUTH  (emerging).  Never!  (Fervently.)  Oh, 
ru-vi-r !  (Hides  her  face  again.) 

BRUCK.  And  you'll  get  over  it  in  time  — (awkwardly 
patting  her  shoulder)  — you'll  even  see  that  it  was  for 
the  best.  (Xerrously.)  Good-bye! 

RUTH  (emerging).  But  it  isn't  good-bye.  You'll 
hear  from  me,  tomorrow. 

BRUCE  (wildly).  It  isn't  necessary  to  go  all  over  it 
again,  is  it? 

RUTH   (rising).     Only  by  telephone  —  so  —  tomor- 
row —  when  I  ring  you  up,  remember  —  as  you  said  — 
that    it's   all    for   the  best.      (Touches   button   left   of 
French  window.)      Won't  you  finish  your  lemonade? 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


BRUCE  (confusedly).     Not  this  afternoon  —  I  mean 
not  now  —  I  —  really  I  must  be  going  —  (desperately) 
—  I  don't  quite  understand  you  I'm  afraid. 
RUTH.     No  —  I'm  afraid  you  don't. 

Enter  SUSIE  from  L. 

RUTH.  Susie,  show  Mr.  Bruce  to  the  door.  (Holds 
out  hand  to  BRUCE.)  Goodbye  —  and  better  luck  next 
time.  (BRUCE  hesitates,  attempts  to  speak,  hesitates 
again  —  and  then  follows  SUSIE  from  the  room.  RUTH 
leans  against  the  wall  and  laughs  to  herself.  Calls  to 
JULIET.)  "Come  out  of  the  garden,  Jule  —  For  the 
black  bat  has  flown." 

JULIET  (appearing  on  porch).  I'm  not  in  the  gar- 
den —  and  I've  been  eavesdropping.  What  do  you 
mean,  you  Ananias,  Sapphira  and  disgrace  to  George 
Washington,  by  telling  such  awful,  whopping  big  un- 
truths ? 

RUTH.  'Twas  my  own  little  way  of  discovering  a 
dishonest  man  —  and  it  worked  beautifully.  (Seats 
herself  at  left  of  porch  table.)  Come  —  drink  to  the 
success  of  the  stratagem!  (Pours  out  lemonade.) 

JULIET  (as  she  sits  opposite  RUTH).  You  may  call 
it  a  stratagem  but  I  call  it  —  a  lie. 

RUTH  (passing  her  the  glass  of  lemonade).     Well  — 
as  the  lady  in  the  play  said  —  better  to  lie  a  little  than 
be  unhappy  much. 

JULIET.     But  how  will  you  explain  all  this  story? 

RUTH.  Easily.  Call  him  up  tomorrow  —  tell  him 
that  a  telegram  has  informed  me  that  the  letter  was  a 
mistake  —  and  that  my  bank  account  is  still  intact. 

JULIET.     And  then? 

RUTH.  He'll  call  again.  But  —  this  time  —  I 
won't  be  at  home. 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  35 

JULIET.  You  won't  feel  so  complacent  when  he  tells 
around  that  you  are  madly  in  love  with  him  —  and  that 
he  doesn't  reciprocate. 

RUTH.  I  don't  believe  that  he'll  tell  it  —  for  he  was 
a  bit  suspicious  at  the  last.  But  —  even  with  that  blot 
upon  my  'scutcheon,  immortality  is  cheap  at  sv.ch  a 
price. 

JULIET.  You're  becoming  a  trifle  mixed  in  your 
rhetoric. 

RUTH.  Who  wouldn't?  Oh,  Jule,  if  you  could  have 
seen  the  poor,  conceited  creature  patting  my  shoulder 
and  offering  consolation  for  the  loss  of  himself! 

JULIET.      It  was  dreadful  t-.\    v»:u  to  laugh. 

RUTH.  And  he  thought  I  WMS  crying!  Jule,  I  be- 
lieve I  am  destined  to  bo  an  adr 

JULIET.  Don't  feel  too  encouraged  —  your  efforts 
mav  not  succeed  with  the  next  victim.  For  Wayne  Ash- 
ley isn't  after  your  money. 

RUTH.  But  he's  after  a  kev  to  social  position  and  he 
thinks  I  can  supply  it. 

JULIET.     You  can. 

RUTH.  But  I  won't.  And  bv  the  time  I  engage  in 
a  few  flights  of  verbal  fancy  he  >vou't  want  me. 

JUI.IET.      What  kind  of  a  man  is  he? 

RUTH.  Dreadfully  anxious  to  do  the  proper  thing, 
don't  you  know  —  and  disgustingly  fond  of  show.  He 
will  expect  his  wife  to  conform  to  the  same  standards. 

Enter  SUSIK  at  L. 

SUSIK  (adranrnic)  to  porch).  Mr.  Ashley  is  in  the 
drawing  room. 

RUTH.  Show  him  here,  Susie.  (Ktrit  Su.su:  nt  L.) 
Suitors  are  crowding  thick  and  fast.  You  might  emu- 


36  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

late  the  old  ladies  in  the  French  Revolution,  Jule,  and 
count  the  heads  as  they  fall. 

JULIET.     Is  that  all  the  use  you  have  for  me? 

RUTH  (rising).  That's  all.  (Laughingly.)  Un- 
less you  care  to  —  listen. 

JULIET  disappears  off  R.  as  WAYNE  ASHLEY  enters 
preceded  by  SUSIE.  He  is  a  man  approaching  middle 
age,  and  wears  a  correctly  tailored  business  suit.  But 
a  closer  inspection  shows  that  his  tie  is  a  little  too 
gaudy,  his  scarf  pin  a  wee  bit  blatant,  and  his  ring  a 
trifle  conspicuous. 

SUSIE.     Mr.  Ashley.      (Exit  at  L.) 

RUTH  (advancing  to  meet  him).  Delighted  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Ashley.  Sit  right  there  in  the  big  chair  while 
I  pour  you  some  lemonade.  (Crosses  to  porch.) 

ASHLEY  (sitting  right  of  table).  That's  ripping  of 
you.  Say,  I  ought  to  apologize  for  coming  here  in 
these  clothes. 

RUTH  (turning  her  head).  What's  the  matter  with 
your  clothes? 

ASHLEY.     Not  quite  the  proper  ticket  for  calling  — 
are  they? 

RUTH.  We  don't  bother  about  such  trifles  in  this 
house. 

ASHLEY.  Trifles?  When  Miss  Moore  has  the  repu- 
tation of  wearing  the  most  correct  clothes  in  town. 

RUTH  (coming  to  him).  Oh,  you  don't  know  the 
real  me,  the  unconventional  me  —  the  me  who  is  strug- 
gling for  self  expression.  (Hands  him  the  lemonade 
and  seats  herself  on  the  settee.) 

ASHLEY  (as  he  sips  tJie  lemonade).  This  certainly 
goes  to  the  spot.  It's  a  hot  day. 


RUTH   IX  A  RUSH  37 

RUTH.  Thermometer  performing  all  sorts  of  antics, 
isn't  it? 

ASHLEY.  Rather.  But  I  don't  let  weather  interfere 
with  business  —  ever. 

RUTH.     That's  the  proper  spirit. 

ASHLEY.  So  I  came  right  along  this  afternoon  be- 
cause I  had  a  question  to  ask  you.  (Leans  forward.) 
Say,  you're  looking  great. 

RUTH  (complacently).     It  is  a  pretty  dress. 

ASHLEY.      I  didn't  mean  that. 

RUTH.     Flatterer! 

ASHLEY.  And  I'd  like  to  see  just  such  a  woman  as 
you  behind  my  coffee  urn  ! 

RUTH.  Shouldn't  }-ou  think  that  the  lady  behind  the 
coffee  urn  and  the  man  behind  the  beefsteak  would  get 
very  tired  of  looking  at  each  other  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days  in  succession? 

ASHLEY.      Not    if    you    happened    to    be    the    lady. 

RUTH.  Oh,  let's  not  mention  beefsteak  and  coffee  on 
an  August  afternoon!  Tell  me,  instead,  just  what 
you've  been  doing  today. 

ASHLEY  (bacutingly) ,  Well  —  for  one  thing  —  I've 
cleaned  up  a  little  deal  that  netted  me  four  figures;  then 
I've  bought  me  a  new  roadster  —  thirty-five  hundred 
cash  —  just  room  for  two,  by  the  way ;  and  I've  got 
the  option  on  the  best  looking  house  on  the  Avenue.  I 
tell  you,  Miss  Moore,  my  wife  can  buy  anything  she 
wants. 

RUTH.     Generous  man  ! 

ASHLEY.  Of  course  that  doesn't  mean  much  to  you 
for  you've  always  had  anything  you've  happened  to 
want  —  and  have  been  free  to  do  whatever  struck  your 
fancy. 

RUTH.     Oh,  no,  I  haven't!     A  man  may  do  just  as 


38  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

he   wishes  —  always  —  but    a    woman    is    never    a    free 
agent  until  after  she  is  married. 

ASHLEY.     How  do  you  make  that  out? 

RUTH.  Well  —  until  she  is  really  settled,  any  girl 
feels  obliged  to  abide  by  the  conventional  routine  of 
everyday  life.  But  —  afterwards  —  (pauses). 

ASHLEY.      Afterwards  —  what? 

RUTH.      You  just  wait  until  I'm  a  married  woman  — 
and  I'll  show  you.      For  I  shall  be  very  different  from 
what   I  am  —  now. 

ASHLEY.     You're  kidding  me! 

RfTH.     Oh,  no,  I'm  not. 

ASHLEY.  You  couldn't  be  anything  but  pretty,  well- 
dressed  and  entertaining. 

RUTH.  Oh,  couldn't  I?  You  won't  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  I've  always  wanted  plain  dark  clothes  — and 
low-heeled,  wide  shoes  with  rubber  in  the  sides  —  and 
bobbed  hair,  real  bobbed  hair,  that  one  doesn't  have  to 
keep  in  order.  And  a  hat  —  a  nice,  flat  little  hat  with 
a  rubber  under  the  chin. 

ASHLEY.      That's  hardly  the  rig  for  social  affairs. 

RUTH.  Oh,  I'll  be  through  with  society  by  that 
time  —  it  bores  me  anyway.  And  I'll  have  my  own 
crowd  of  literary  lights  —  and  musicians  —  and  artists 
—  and  queer  people  who  have  brains. 

ASHLEY  (placing  his  unfinished  glass  of  lemonade 
upon  the  table).  You  surely  don't  mean  all  this. 

RUTH.     Don't  I?     As  I  said  before  —  wait  and  see. 

Asm  KY.      Suppose  your  husband  objects. 

RUTH.  I'll  never  rest  until  I  convert  him  to  my  way 
of  thinking. 

ASHLEY  (rising).  I  must  be  going — (as  she  pro- 
tests) really.  (Looks  at  watch.)  I'd  clean  forgotten 
a  business  appointment. 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  39 

RUTH  (rising).  But  the  question  you  were  to  ask 
me! 

ASHLEY.     That'll  keep.      (Moves  to  door.) 

RUTH  (following  him).  Oh,  I  hate  to  have  your 
visit  interrupted.  Can't  you  come  again? 

ASH  LEV.      Leaving  town  tomorrow. 

RUTH.     Let  me  ring  for  Susie. 

ASHLEY.  Don't  bother  —  can  find  my  own  way  out. 
(At  L.)  Good-bye,  Miss  Moore  —  had  a  pleasant  aft- 
ernoon—  and  (seizing  her  hand  hastily)  I'll  see  you 
later.  (Exit  at  L.) 

RUTH  (calling).     Did  you  hear  the  head  fall? 

Enter  JULIET  from  porch 

JULIET.  I  heard  enough  to  make  me  wonder  how  the 
Recording  Angel  has  found  time  today  for  anybody 
but  you. 

RUTH.  I  managed  it  pretty  cleverly,  didn't  I? 
(Sits  right  of  table.) 

JTLIET.  You  were  —  unspeakable.  Why  did  you 
represent  yourself  as  such  a  monstrosity?  (Perches 
upon  left  arm  of  settee. ) 

RI'TH.  Great,  wasn't  it?  The  more  I  said,  the 
more  alluring  it  all  seemed ;  in  fact,  I  don't  know  but 
what  I  have  convinced  myself.  (Extending  foot  and 
looking  at  it  thoughtfully.)  I'd  love  the  rubber-sided 
shoes. 

JULIET.     Disgusting! 

RUTH.      And  the  rubber  under  the  chin! 

JULIET.  And  why  on  earth  did  you  advance  such  a 
ridiculous  philosophy? 

RUTH.  1'hilosophtf?  If  I  advanced  any  philoso- 
phy, I  did  it  unintentionally,  and  I  apologize.  Explain 
yourself. 


40  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

JUUET.  You  said  that  a  woman's  freedom  began 
after  her  marriage  —  when  you  know,  down  in  your 
heart,  that  her  bondage  dates  from  that  time. 

RUTH.  Oh,  that  sentiment  was  merely  rhetorical  ef- 
fort —  and  if  it  happened  to  turn  into  a  philosophical 
subtlety  he  didn't  grasp  it.  So  —  why  worry? 

JULIET.  I  don't.  Except  over  the  fact  that  you 
have  voluntarily  and  arbitrarily  eliminated  two  suit- 
ors. 

RUTH.  That's  what  I  planned  to  do  —  and  it  is  a 
great  satisfaction  to  achieve  what  one  plans.  (Re- 
laxes.) But  it  has  been  something  of  a  strain  —  and  I 
hope  that,  never  again,  do  I  lay  eyes  on  a  man ! 

At  this  moment,  DWIGHT  LAMBERT  appears  on  the 
porch,  resplendent  in  white  suit  and  shoes  and  carry- 
ing a  Panama.  He  is  of  the  irresponsible,  irrepressible 
college  type  —  and  his  winning  smile  gains  your  faror 
even  before  he  has  spoken. 

LAMBERT  (coming  to  French  window).  Hello,  you 
people.  (Looks  around.}  Is  she  here? 

JULIET.  Why  are  you  snooping  around  our  garden, 
Dwight  Lambert? 

RUTH.     And  who  is  the  mysterious  she? 

LAMBERT.  That's  a  pretty  question  to  ask  a  fellow 
who  is  to  be  married  a  week  from  today. 

JULIET.  In  stories,  the  mysterious  she  always  ap- 
pears at  the  eleventh  hour.  (Sits  on  settee.) 

LAMBERT.  Not  in  this  case.  There's  never  been 
anybody  but  Peggy  Pat  since  the  perambulator  stage. 

RUTH.  Which  isn't  so  very  long  ago.  (Points  to 
hassock.)  Come  here,  baby  boy,  and  tell  us 'all  about 
it. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  41 


LAMBERT  (drawing  hassock  near  RUTH  and  seating 
himself}.  You  see,  I'm  to  meet  her  here. 

RUTH.  And  I'm  delighted  to  furnish  the  rendez- 
vous. Bat  would  you  mind  telling  me  why  I  furnish  it? 

LAMBERT.  Why?  Because  I  can't  possibly  see  her 
at  her  own  home. 

RTTH.  Again,  ignorance  prompts  me  to  say  —  why 
not? 

JULIET.  Good  gracious,  Ruth!  Surely  you  don't 
expect  a  girl  to  have  time  for  her  fiance  on  the  eve  of 
the  great  event. 

LAMBKRT.  Wait  until  your  own  wedding  and  you'll 
find  out  for,yourself. 

RITH.  But  I  won't  have  a  wedding  —  for  I  intend 
to  elope. 

LAMBERT.      Elope!     That's  a  bully  plan. 

RUTH.     The  bulliest  plan  in  the  matrimonial  calen- 
dar.    For  —  instead  of  the  usual  fuss  and  feathers  — 
and  the  everlasting  interference  of  the  world  at  large  — 
an  elopement  requires  only  the  two  most  concerned. 

LAMBERT.      Gosh!      Why  didn't  we  think  of  it. 

RUTH.  Too  late,  now.  You  and  Peggy  Pat  are  ad- 
vertised as  having  the  showiest  wedding  of  the  season, 
aren't  you? 

LAMBERT   (gloomily}.      It  looks  like  it. 

Jn.iKT.  With  more  entertainments  to  the  bride's 
credit  than  ever  before  recorded. 

LAMBKRT.  She's  sick  of  them,  too ;  and,  what's  more, 
she's  dead  tired. 

RUTH.  Of  course  she  is.  So  I  revert  to  my  original 
argument  —  why  not  elope* 

LAMBERT.      Why  didn't  you  tell  us  sooner? 

RUTH.  Isn't  that  just  like  a  man?  Blaming  a 
woman  for  what  he,  himself,  should  have  thought  of. 


42  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

« 

LAMBERT.  Getting  married  is  an  awful  job,  isn't  it? 
I  thought  that  all  there  was  to  it  was  —  well,  just  get- 
ting married  —  but  —  heavens  —  it's  everybody's  busi- 
ness. • 

RUTH.  Exactly.  Why  did  you  agree  to  all  these 
ridiculous  preliminaries? 

LAMBERT.  I  should  have  agreed  to  anything  in  or- 
der to  get  Peggy  Pat.  Do  you  blame  me? 

RUTH.  I  don't  blame  either  of-  you  —  you're  the 
victims  of  convention. 

LAMBERT.  It's  been  a  funny  sort  of  engagement  — 
not  a  bit  like  a  real  engagement.  Every  time  I've  seen 
Peggy  Pat,  we've  been  interrupted  '- —  and  now,  I'm  for- 
bidden the  house. 

RUTH.     Too  many  dressmakers  I  suppose. 

LAMBERT.     And  no  time  to  waste  on  the  bridegroom. 

JULIET.  Poor  Dwight !  You're  like  the  proverbial 
needle  hidden  in  a  mass  of  wedding  finery ! 

LAMBERT.  So  you  see  —  I  am  forced  to  meet  her 
at  other  people's  houses  —  and,  sometimes,  even  then 
I  can't  see  her  alone. 

RUTH.  Well,  you  can,  here.  There's  a  distracting 
little  arbor  in  the  garden,  obligingly  screened  in  —  and 
later  on,  we'll  send  you  some  lemonade. 

LAMBERT  (looking  at  the  two  glasses  on  table). 
What's  the  matter  with  the  lemonade?  Your  preced- 
ing guests  didn't  seem  to  relish  it. 

RUTH.     My   preceding  guests   were  laboring  under 

the  stress  of  great  emotion.      (Rises  and  draws  him  up 

from  hassock.)      Now  hurry  out  to  your  trysting  place 

—  and  as  soon  as  Peggy  Pat  arrives,  I'll  restore  her 

to  your  arms. 

LAMBERT.  You're  a  brick  —  and  the  two  of  you 
have  pepped  me  up  a  lot.  I  don't  mind  telling  you 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  43 

now  —  that,  a  while  ago,  I  felt  as  if  I'd  like  to  chuck 
it  all. 

RrTH.     Dwight! 

LAMBERT  (a*  he  makes  his  way  to  porch).  But  I'm 
all  right  now.  (Turns.}  And  I'll  stick  it  out. 

RUTH.  Good  boy !  Next  time  you  marry,  suppose 
you  plan  to  elope ! 

LAMBERT  (grinning}.  You  bet  I  will.  (Disappears 
right  of  porch.} 

RTTH.  I  hate  to  see  a  wholesale  robbery  of  the 
nursery.  (Leans  back  over  settee.}  Dwight  should 
be  in  college. 

JIMKT.  What's  the  difference?  He  would  marry 
Peggy  Pat  sometime  —  so  he  might  as  well  do  it  now 
and  settle  down.  They  can  grow  up  together. 

RUTH.  Ridiculous  custom,  this  killing  of  the  fatted 
calf  for  matrimonial  victims. 

JnjET.  I  could  stand  the  fatted  calf  better  than 
the  unsolicited  advice. 

RUTH.  I  couldn't  stand  any  of  it  —  so,  again  I  say 
-  let's  dope.  Jule! 

Jr I.IKT.      Agreed.      Heaven  send  us  the  opportunity! 

At  tJiis  moment,  a  rishn  appears  at  L. —  or  to  be 
more  exact  —  blow  in.  The  risioM  resolves  itself  into 
the  sweetest  kind  of  <i  maiden,  attired  in  a  dainty  be- 
rnffled  summer  gown,  crowned  with  a  large,  ftoicer- 
Itiden  hut  anil  carrying  a  autractmgty  gay  parasol. 
The  rision —  or  PKC.CV  Pvr. 

PICCY  PAT  (gii.cs  wildly  about  her  and  then  gasps 
feebly)  Is  he  here? 

Kmi  (going  to  meet  her).  Of  course  he's  here, 
waiting  for  you  in  Hie  arbor.  Will  you  go  right  out  or 
stay  here  a  moment  to 


44  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

PEGGY  PAT.  I'll  rest  a  moment  —  for  I'm  dreadfully 
tired  —  and  I've  hurried  —  hurried  —  hurried  —  ever 
since  morning.  I  didn't  even  stop  to  ring  your  bell. 

RUTH  (leading  her  back  of  settee).  Why  should 
you?  Take  a  long  breath  and  sit  here  quietly  between 
us  till  you  get  your  bearings.  (As  she  takes  off  PEGGY 
PAT'S  hat).  Good  gracious,  child  —  what  have  you 
been  doing  to  yourself-  and  where's  your  color? 
(PEGGY  PAT  sits  between  RUTH  and  JULIET  on  settee.) 

PEGGY  PAT.  In  the  nice  little  box  that  you  buy  at 
the  druggist's.  That's  the  only  kind  I  have  nowadays. 
(Pauses.)  It's  the  hot  weather  I  suppose. 

RUTH.  Nothing  of  the  kind, —  it's  the  mad  whirl  of 
silly  parties.  How  many  more  of  them? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Only  a  few  —  but  they're  big  ones  and 
I'll  be  just  as  tired. 

RUTH.  Why  did  you  want  all  this  fuss  and  feath- 
ers? 

PEGGY  PAT.  I  didn't  —  but  I  was  so  glad  to  get 
Dwight  that  I  would  have  agreed  to  anything.  It  was 
all  mother's  idea.  (Plaintively.)  I  don't  believe  I 
have  a  single  idea  of  my  own  left. 

JULIET.  Couldn't  you  refuse  some  of  the  invita- 
tions? 

PEGGY  PAT.     Not  when  I  have  eight  bridesmaids  — 
and  a  mob  of  relatives  —  and  a  lot  of  old  family  friends 
all  wanting  to  be  nice  to  me.      I  just  can't  hurt  people's 
feelings. 

RUTH.  But  you  can  ruin  your  nerves.  What  kind 
of  a  bride  will  Dwight  claim,  next  week,  if  this  con- 
tinues ? 

PEGGY  PAT.     He  won't  claim  any  —  for  —  oh,  Ruth 
—  I  just  can't  go  through  with  it  all  —  and  I  came 
here  today  —  to  tell  him  so.      (  Weeps. ) 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  45 

RUTH.  To  —  tell  —  him  —  that  —  you  —  won't 
—  marry  —  him?  (PEGGY  PAT  nods  riolently.)  Are 
you  going  to  allow  a  few  parties  to  turn- you  into  such 
a  hysterical  goose? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Oh,  I  could  live  through  the  parties  — 
but  it's  the  things  that  people  say  — 

RUTH   (sharply}.     What  things? 

PEGGY  PAT  (sobbing).  That  marriage  is  very 
solemn  —  and  a  great  responsibility  —  and  'that  you 
run  the  risk  of  not  being  suited  to  each  other. 

RUTH  (shaking  her  violently}.  Now  listen  to  me, 
Peggy  Pat  —  and  stop  all  this  nonsense.  Marriage  is 
solemn  —  and  a  responsibility  —  but  a  great  many 
people  have  been  willing  to  take  the  risk,  haven't  they? 

PEGGY  PAT  (meekly).     Yes  — 

RUTH.  Then  you  can  be  pretty  sure  that  it's  all 
right.  And  if  I  hear  any  more  of  this  ridiculous  talk, 
I'll  believe  that  you're  tired  of  Dwight  —  and  don't 
care  a  rap  for  him. 

PEGGY  PAT  (indignantly).  Tired  of  Dwight?  I'll 
never —  never  —  never  marry  any  other  man  ! 

RUTH  (putting  PEGGY  PAT'S  hat  on  her  head).  Then 
go  right  out  in  the  garden  and  tell  him  so  —  and  when 
that  overworked  wedding  march  breaks  forth  next 
Wednesday  night  —  show  him  what,  a  bully  little  pal  is 
coming  his  way. 

PEGGY  PAT  (smiling).  I  will  —  oh,  I  will  -  And  I 
feel  so  much  better  about  it  all. 

RI-TH.  You  and  Dwight  should  have  planned  an 
elopement.  Then  you  could  have  escaped  all  this 
agony. 

Pi •A;I;\  PAT.  An  elopement  -—  how  perfectly  grand! 
Oh,  I  wish  we'd  thought  of  it !  (Sighs.)  But  mother 
would  never  have  allowed  it. 


46  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

RUTH.     Mother  need  not  have  known. 

PEGGY  PAT.  She  knows  everything  —  why,  she  even 
found  out  I  was  coming  here  this  afternoon  —  and  she 
didn't  like  it  a  bit.  (Rises.)  Ruth — if  she  tele- 
phones —  don't  tell  her  that  Dwight  is  here. 

RUTH  (rising).     Trust  me. 

PEGGY  PAT.  Of  course,  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  an 
untruth  for  me  — 

RUTH.  I  don't  mind  it  a  bit.  In  fact,  recent  prac- 
tice has  enabled  me  to  do  so  quite  unconsciously. 

PEGGY  PAT.     Then  I'll  run  right  out  to  Dwight  — 
and  —  oh  Ruth  —  (grasps  her  hands)  —  thank  you  so 
much.      (Hastens  to  porch  and  then  turns.)      Wouldn't 
it  have  been  —  heavenly — to  elope?      (Runs  off  right 
of  porch.) 

JULIET  (rising  and  crossing  to  table).  Now  you've 
done  it. 

RUTH.     Done  what? 

JULIET.  Suggested  an  elopement.  (Takes  glasses 
from  table  and  crosses  to  porch  table.) 

RUTH.  Fiddlesticks  !  I  simply  outlined  what  might 
have  been. 

JULIET  (as  she  places  glasses  on  porch  table).  Just 
the  same,  you  wouldn't  feel  very  proud  of  yourself  if 
those  infants  decided  to  follow  your  advice. 

RUTH  (coming  to  C.).     I'm  not  worried  about  that. 
Peggy  Pat  is  not  apt  to  cut  loose  from  the  maternal 
apron  string  at  this  late  hour  —  and  as  to  Dwight  — 
you  heard  him  say  that  he  would  stick  it  out. 

JULIET  (joining  RUTH  at  C.).  But  they  haven't 
talked  it  over  —  together  —  yet. 

Enter  SUSIE  at  L. 
SUSIE.     Telegram  for   Miss  Juliet. 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  47 

JULIET  ( in  surprise).     For  me?      (Takes  telegram.) 

SUSIE.      I  signed  for  it. 

JULIET  (as  she  opens  it).  Thank  you,  Susie. 
(Exit  SUSIE  at  L.)  What  can  it  be?  (Comes  slowly 
down  stage  as  she  reads.) 

RUTH  (following  to  back  of  settee).  No  bad  news, 
Jule? 

JULIET.     Hardly.     It  is  from  the  agency. 

RUTH   (excitedly).      What  does  it  say? 

JULIET.  Listen.  (Reads.)  Lansing  asks  that 
MacDonald  report  September  first  at  Kensington. 

RUTH  (bewildered).     You  mean — 

JULIET  (laughing).  That  you  are  Gilbert  Lansing's 
secretary,  my  dear ! 


CURTAIN 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

SCENE:  To  the  sound  of  wind,  rain  and  thunder, 
the  curtain  rises  upon  the  waiting  room  of  a  little 
country  station.  A  long,  wooden  seat  —  or  built-in 
bench  —  extends  along  the  back  wall,  save  for  an  en- 
closed space  at  the  upper  right  hand  corner,  which 
has  an  unseen  outside  entrance  and  serves  as  a  ticket 
office,  bearing  the  word  TICKETS  in  glaring  letters,  over 
its  closed  window.  A  large  map  and  a  heavy-typed 
calendar  hang  on  the  wall  above  the  seat,  and  down  L. 
is  an  old-fashioned  water  cooler.  Another  wooden  seat 
runs  along  the  right  of  the  room  and  at  L.  %  a  forlorn 
stove,  in  company  with  a  box  of  kindlmg  wood,  keeps 
vigil.  The  outside  entrance  is  down  L.  and  the  door 
opens  toward  the  audience. 

The  stage  is  clear  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  quite 
suddenly  the  door  opens  and  GILBERT  LANSING,  followed 
by  PHILIP  GRANT  —  both  carrying  suit-cases  —  enter. 
Over  their  dark  serge  suits  they  wear  long  rain  coats, 
which  together  with  their  motor  caps  are  dripping  wet. 
LANSING,  a  man  of  about  thirty-two,  whose  hair  at  the 
temples  is  slightly  touched  with  gray,  impresses  one 
with  a  quiet  dignity  which  quickly  disappears  when  the 
situation  demands  the  change.  This  keen  sense  of 
humor,  coupled  with  an  adaptability  and  a  certain 
charm  of  manner,  gives  him  a  distinct  personality. 
GRANT  —  of  about  the  same  age  —  is  polished,  a  bit 
languid,  a  trifle  bored  and  quite  the  cosmopolitan  —  but 
natural  and  simple  when  his  interest  is  aroused. 

48 


RUTH   IX  A  RUSH  49 

LANSING  (crossing  to  R.).  Something  of  a  steady 
downpour,  isn't  it,  Phil?  And  rather  different  from 
Hie  passing  summer  shower  you  predicted.  (Shoves  his 
su:t-case  under  the  bench.)  Well  —  since  Fate  decreed 
that  gasoline  should  go  back  on  us,  'twas  thoughtful  of 
the  old  lady  to  inflict  the  catastrophe  where  we  could 
h.-ivi-  shelter. 

GRANT  (placing  his  suit-case  under  seat  at  back  of 
stage).  I  might  as  well  confess  that  I'm  not  only  a 
poor  weather  prophet  but  a  wretched  judge  of  roads. 
I  never  dreamed  that  we  should  get  into  any  such  mud 
hole  as  this  beastly  place.  (Sits  and  lights  a  cigarette. ) 

LANSING  (looking  around).  Well,  this  isn't  so 
beastly. 

GRANT.  It's  hardly  —  inspiring.  Though  I  pre- 
sume that  every  commonplace  has  its  charm  for  a 
writer  —  and  I've  no  doubt  that  the  great  Gilbert  Lan- 
sing can  evolve  local  color  even  from  this  atmosphere. 

LANSING.      Don't  be  sarcastic,  Phil. 

GRANT.  I'm  not  sarcastic  —  I'm  merely  a  hero- 
worshipper.  Inarticulate  admiration  doubtless  ac- 
counts for  my  steering  you  into  all  these  rural  ruts. 

LANSING  (as  he  sits  on  seat  down  R.  and  throws  off 
his  cap).  Don't  you  know  the  topography  of  your 
country  estate  any  better  than  this? 

GRANT.  Until  today  I've  never  happened  to  drive  in 
this  particular  direction.  My  usual  route  is  a  per- 
fectly respectable  macadam  highway. 

LANSING.      How  much  farther  is  Willowdene? 

GRANT.  Far  enough  to  check  our  mad  career  unless 
the  sun  comes  out  and  a  beneficent  providence  sends  us 
gasoline. 

LANSING.  At  what  time  does  the  connecting  train 
reach  this  metropolis? 


50  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

GRANT.  When  the  spirit  moves,  I  fancy.  (Looks 
at  watch.)  Past  three  o'clock  now  —  and  I  imagine 
that  whatever  it  does,  it  will  do  pretty  soon. 

LANSING.      We  are  expected  for  dinner,  aren't  we? 

GRANT.  We  are.  But  if  unforeseen  contingencies 
arise,  why  worry? 

LANSING.  I'm  not  worrying.  And  as  you  know 
week-end  parties  have  no  fascination  for  me. 
(Pauses.)  Why  has  Foster  evinced  this  sudden  inter- 
est in  us? 

GRANT.  Same  class  at  Yale  —  desire  to  renew  old 
fellowship,  etc.  Wasn't  that  the  dope? 

LANSING.  But  our  particular  class  graduated  ten 
years  ago  and  I  haven't  noticed  his  hunting  us  up  dur- 
ing the  ten  years. 

GRANT.     Neither  have  I. 

LANSING.  And  what's  more,  he  never  paid  us  any 
special  attention  when  we  were  at  college  together. 

GRANT.  Too  much  of  a  snob  —  and  at  that  time, 
we  were  both  working  our  way  through  Yale,  you  re- 
member. 

LANSING  (after  a  pause).     Well,  I  may  be  stupid  — 
but,  even  upon  reflection,  I  am  not  able  to  fathom  his 
motive  in  honoring  us  with  the  invitation. 

GRANT.  You  are  stupid  in  some  ways,  Gil.  Doesn't 
your  feeble  intelligence  grasp  the  fact  that  since  our 
college  days,  you  have  become  a  celebrity  and  /  have 
inherited  my  blasted  money? 

LANSING.  -I'm  not  such  a  celebrity  that  I  affect  the 
social  register. 

GRANT.     That's  all  you  know  about  it. 

LANSING.  And  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  cuss  your 
money.  It's  done  a  lot  for  you. 

GRANT.     In   the   way   of   travel  —  education  —  and 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  51 

world     knowledge.     But     it's     blasted     my     ambition. 

LANSING.     Oh,  no  —  it  hasn't  — 

GRANT.  I'm  not  the  same  fellow  I  was  ten  years 
ago,  Gil.  You  know  that. 

LANSING.  Neither  am  I.  As  we  grow  older,  it's  in- 
evitable that  we  lose  some  of  the  youthful  ardor. 

GRANT.  But  I've  had  things  made  too  easy  for  me. 
I  haven't  felt  the  necessity  of  work,  and  without  an 
impetus,  one  doesn't  arrive. 

LANSING.     Then  find  the  impetus. 

GRANT.      I  wisli  I  could. 

LANSING.     Try  —  marrying. 

GRANT.     Marrying?     What's  struck  you? 

LANSING.  An  inspiration,  perhaps.  A  nice  girl 
would  give  you  a  very  different  viewpoint. 

GRANT.     All  of  which  reminds  me- —  (pauses). 

LANSING.     Of  what? 

GRANT.  Of  another  reason  for  our  being  asked  to 
the  Willowdene  estate.  Mrs.  Foster  has  a  sister. 

LANSING.     Well  —  what  of  it? 

GRANT.      An  unmarried  sister. 

LANSING  (puzzled).     Still  I  don't  understand. 

GRANT.  You  are  an  idiot.  Try  to  realize  that  each 
one  of  us  is  an  eligible. 

LANSING.      Great  heavens!     I  won't  go. 

GKANT.     The  girl  is  an  heiress. 

LANSING.     What's  that  to  me? 

GRANT.  A  moment  ago  you  were  rhapsodizing  over 
the  attractions  and  the  advantages  of  my  filthy  lucre. 

LANSING.      That's  different. 

GRANT.  Theoretically.  If  my  money  has  meant  so 
much  to  me,  why  shouldn't  the  lady's  inheritance  hu- 
manize her? 


52  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

LANSING  (yawning).  The  matter  isn't  worth  an  ar- 
gument. (After  a  pause.)  What  is  her  name? 

GRANT.  Moore.  And  I  have  never  laid  eyes  on 
her. 

LANSING.  That  doesn't  keep  you  from  knowing  just 
what  she  is,  does  it?  Traveled,  sophisticated,  exceed- 
ingly bored  —  and  critically  examining  every  victim 
on  the  matrimonial  bargain  table. 

GRANT.     You  speak  feelingly  of  the  species. 

LANSING.  I  feel  feelingly.  For  the  girl  who  will 
sometime  adorn  the  other  side  of  my  fireplace  will  be 
a  jolly,  companionable  sort  of  a  creature  —  not  an  arti- 
ficial fashion  plate. 

GRANT.     Already  picked  out  the  girl? 

LANSING.  No,  I  haven't  already  picked  out  the  girl. 
At  present,  I  feel  as  if  I  never  wanted  to  see  her. 

GRANT.  The  literary  temperament  again !  Better 
hurry  up  and  find  her,  Gil,  for  with  those  gray  temples 
you'll  soon  be  taken  for  a  crotchety  old  man. 

LANSING.  That  is  just  what  has  already  happened. 
Did  you  read  the  Tribune's  description  of  me? 

GRANT.     Haven't  had  the  pleasure. 

LANSING.  "  Old,  sarcastic  and  disagreeable  " —  it 
ran,  after  the  usual  necessary  tribute  to  my  prowess 
in  the  world  of  letters. 

GRANT.     What  ailed  the  interviewer? 

LANSING.     A  bit  of  temper,  I  fancy.     I  was  not  in 
the  mood  to  discuss  her  thousand  and  one  topics,  so  — 
metaphorically  —  she  seized  my  gray  hair. 

GRANT.     And  added  two  score  to  your  age.      I  don't 
blame   her.      (Rises.)      Let's   go  into   the  fresh  air — 
this  place  gets  on  my  nerves.     Anyway,  I  must  find  a 
better  refuge  for  the  car. 

LANSING    (risina   and    taking    his    cap).     Anything 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  53 

suits  me.      (As  they  puns  oat.}      Suppose  we  organize 
a  hunt  for  inhabitants. 

The  stage  is  clear  for  several  moments  during  which 
one  hears  a  locomotive,  a  bell  and  a  whistle.  As  the 
whistle  dies  away,  RUTH  and  JULIET  enter,  both  strug- 
gling with  a  refractory  umbrella  and  carrying  traveling 
bags.  They  wear  long,  loose  rain  coats  over  their 
tailored  suits  and  the  umbrella  has  slightly  tilted  their 
small,  modish,  tailored  hats. 

JULIET.  I  never  saw  such  a  place.  Nobody  on  the 
platform  to  help  with  baggage  —  and  not  a  soul  in 
sight.  (Goes  to  back  of  stage  and  throws  her  bag  on 
seat.) 

RUTH.  Oh,  yes  there  is,  Jule.  A  man  'way  at  the 
other  end  of  the  station,  working  with  a  car.  I  saw 
him.  (Stands  at  ('.  and  shakes  umbrella.) 

JULIET.  One  naturally  expects  somebody  to  be  on 
hand  at  a  station  —  to  answer  questions,  if  nothing 
else. 

RUTH  (placing  umbrella  at  Ii.).  But  this  is  Sun- 
shine Junction,  my  dear,  and  it  doesn't  happen  to  have 
the  facilities  of  the  Grand  Central.  (Seats  herself  at 
K.,  and  throws  off  her  rain  coat.) 

.Jrr.iKT.      Has  it  any  facilities? 

RUTH  (cheerfully).  I  don't  think  so.  Only  a  few 
people  live  here  as  it's  only  a  connecting  station  —  so  it 
doesn't  need  the  extras. 

JULIRT.      You  talk  as  if  you  really  liked  it. 

RUTH.  I  do.  I  like  anything  that's  out  of  the 
ordinary  —  and  simple  —  and  primitive.  (Suddenly.) 
I  like  even  this  kind  of  weather. 

JULIET.     Ruth! 

RUTH.      And  I'm  so  proud  to  think  that  I'm  Hie  one 


54  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

who  insisted  upon  our  taking  rain  coats  and  umbrellas 
in  case  of  emergency.  We  ran  into  the  emergency 
all  right.  (As  she  looks  at  her  slightly  muddied  shoe.) 
But  I  did  forget  the  rubbers ! 

JULIET  (scornfully).    Rubbers!    I  don't  own  a  pair! 

RUTH.  Well,  when  I  purchase  my  nice,  wide,  low- 
heeled  shoes,  I  intend  to  have  some- big  roomy  arctics 
to  go  with  them.  Sit  down,  Jule,  and  make  yourself  at 
home. 

JULIET  (sitting  at  back  of  stage).  How  long  must 
we  wait  here? 

RUTH.  Ask  me  about  the  square  of  the  fourth  dimen- 
sion or  the  formula  for  perpetual  motion  —  but  don't 
force  me  to  follow  the  eccentric  schedule  of  the  Sunshine 
Junction  train. 

JULIET.      Can't  we  find  out  about  it? 

RUTH  (gazing  around).  Walls  have  ears  —  but  no- 
body has  ever  endowed  them  with  tongues. 

JULIET.     Isn't  there  any  one  to  answer  questions? 

RUTH.     Perhaps  the  man  outside. 

JULIET  (glancing  at  ticket  window).  Or  to  sell 
tickets? 

RUTH.  Why  sell  tickets  when  there's  nobody  to  buy 
them  ? 

JULIET.  But  how  do  they  know  that  we  don't  need 
them  ? 

RUTH.  And  whom  do  you  mean  by  that  rather 
vague  they? 

JULIET.     The  ticket  agent,  of  course. 

RUTH.  Then  you're  ungrammatical.  You  should 
have  said  he  —  or  she  —  or  it.  Honest  to  goodness, 
Jule,  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  the  place  save  that  it's 
a  connecting  link. 

JULIET.     Or  a  missing  link,  if  the  local  fails  us. 


RUTH    IN   A   RUSH  55 

RUTH.  Exactly.  Your  sense  of  humor  is  still  with 
you,  dear  old  thing,  so  I  guess  you're  safe. 

JULIET  (after  a  pause).     I'm  ashamed  to  say  it — 
but  I  loathe  inconveniences. 

RUTH.  All  the  more  reason  that  you  should  marry 
that  millionaire. 

JULIET.     What  about  you? 

RUTH.  I  am  already  planning  a  snare  for  the  one 
who  is  heralded  as  distinguished.  Now  a  millionaire 
may  fall  to  the  lot  of  an}'  one  —  but  a  distinguished 
husband  is  the  gift  of  the  gods. 

JULIET  (looking  at  her  watch).      It's  four  o'clock. 

RUTH.  Then  our  friend,  the  local,  should  be  with  u» 
in  about  half  an  hour.  Mind  you,  I  say  should  not  will. 

JULIET.      Is  it  always  late? 

RUTH.  Remember  that  only  once  have  I  tested  its 
efficiency  —  for  this  is  Jean's  first  summer  in  her  new 
home.  On  that  occasion  it  behaved  itself  in  a  seemly 
fashion  —  save  that  it  stopped  at  every  haystack. 

JULIET.  That's  encouraging,  if  we  are  to  arrive  for 
dinner. 

RUTH.  We're-  expected.  Well  —  be  thankful  that 
our  trunks  went  on  ahead  of  time.  It  won't  take  long 
to  jump  into  our  dinner  clothes. 

JULIET  (rising).  Well — I  intend  to  investigate  a 
bit.  Maybe  I  can  find  out  the  whereabouts  of  the 
train. 

RUTH.      Ask  the  man  with  the  car. 

JULIET.      I  will.      (Exit.) 

(RUTH,  left  to  herself,  walk's  slowly  about  the  room 
investigating  each  crack  and  corner,  and  humminy  a 
gay  little  tune.  She  examines  the  map,  looks  into  the 
store,  and  final!//  shores  her  trarcling  bag  under  the 


56  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

seat  at  R.  As  she  does  so,  she  naturally  notices  LAN- 
SING'S suit  case.  In  great  excitement  and  surprise,  she 
draws  it  out,  kneels  by  it  and  looks  for  some  mark  of 
ownership. ) 

RUTH.  Oh-h-h!  The  island  is  inhabited!  (Turns 
suit  case  around.)  Why  doesn't  he  leave  his  name  and 
address  in  some  conspicuous  place?  (The  door  behind 
her  opens;  thinking  it  is  JULIET,  she  does  not  tu.rn  but 
continues  her  investigations.}  What  do  you  think, 
Jule?  Somebody  is  sharing  our  exile  —  a  mysterious 
somebody  —  a  somebody  we  didn't  expect.  I  feel  just 
like  Robinson  Crusoe!  (As  there  is  no  answer,  her 
voice  dies  away  —  and  she  rises  and  turns  to  behold — ) 

LANSING  standing  by  the  door. 

LANSING  (removing  his  cap,  smiling  and  bowing). 
The  ubiquitous  and  adaptable  Friday  at  your  service ! 

RUTH  (pointing  to  suit  case).  Does  this  happen  to 
be  yours? 

LANSING.  It  does.  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you  by 
not  being  the  mysterious  somebody  you  invoked.  I'm 
hopelessly  commonplace. 

RUTH.  And  I'm  hopelessly  humiliated.  I  feel  ex- 
actly as  if  you  had  caught  me  picking  your  pocket. 

LANSING.  Just  because  you  examined  an  unexpected 
suit  case?  Nonsense.  If  your  traveling  bag  had 
stood  in  my  way,  I  should  have  done  the  same. 

RUTH.  You  see,  it  was  thrilling  to  come  across  it  — 
for  I  had  just  about  persuaded  myself  that  nothing 
human  existed  in  this  place. 

LANSING.  A  thorough  search  on  my  part  has  re- 
sulted in  the  discovery  of  two  depot  appendages  —  one, 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  57 

a  baggage  man,  though  heaven  knows  what  he  finds  to 
do  —  and  the  other,  a  hanger-on. 

RfTH.  Oh,  dear  —  it's  beginning  to  sound  metro- 
politan. 

LANSING.      Isn't  it?     Then  there  is  my  friend  — 

RTTH  (eagerly).     The  man  with  the  car? 

LANSING.  Exactly.  The  usual  story  of  capricious 
gasoline,  and  besides,  a  bit  of  engine  trouble. 

RUTH.  Then  my  friend  is  probably  interviewing 
him.  (Starts  to  push  the  suit  case  under  the  seat.) 
I'll  restore  your  property  to  its  abiding  place. 

LANSING.  Oh,  let  me  do  it  — -  please  —  and  I'll  dis- 
pose of  yours  at  the  same  time. 

As  they  both  lean  over  the  suit  case  and  the  bag,  the 
window  to  the  ticket  office  fits  open  and  a  sharp  voice 
cries  "  Tickets!  "  Startled,  the  two  spring  apart  and 
Rrru  crosses  to  door  and  goes  out,  leaving  the  door  a 
bit  ajar  and  listening  from  the  other  side.  LANSING 
places  both  bags  under  the  seat,  then  strolls  leisurely  to 
the  wind  ore  where  SADIE  SODASTROM  is  regarding  him 
with  the  greatest  interest. 

SADIK  SODASTKOM  is  of  a  business-like  and  inquisitive 
type,  and  in  her  air  and  attire  there  is  an  imitation  of 
city  ways  and  city  fashions.  Her  hair  is  in  the  ap- 
proved style,  her  plain  gingham  (/own  is  trim  and  neat 
and  relieved  by  white  collar  and  cuffs,  but  her  dangling 
car-rings  give  an  iii/c.rpcftcd  and  rather  outre  finish  to 
her  appearance. 

SADIK  (  repeal  ing).      TirkrKr 

LANSING  (pushing  money  through  window).  To 
Willowdenc. 

SADIK.      Two,  of  course. 


58  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH . 

LANSING  (absent-mindedly).  Two.  (The  door 
closes  softly.) 

SADIE  (as  she  hands  back  the  tickets  and  the  change). 
Some  day?  isn't  it? 

LANSING.  Rather.  Sunshine  Junction  isn't  living 
up  to  its  name.  (Places  tickets  and  money  in  pocket.) 

SADIE.  Oh,  well  —  in  that  case,  I  reckon  we  can  use 
the  old  city  gag  and  tell  strangers  that  it's  very  unusual 
weather  for  this  time  of  year. 

LANSING.     Are   you   the   ticket   agent? 

SADIE.  Sure.  And  on  the  side  lines,  I  listen  to  the 
telegraph  machine,  am  first  aid  to  the  baggage  man, 
pretend  I'm  depot  agent  and  even  keep  a  pair  of  hand- 
cuffs for  the  times  when  I  have  to  play  sheriff. 

LANSING.  Sheriff?  Surely  nothing  ever  happens  in 
this  peaceful  community  of  Sunshine  Junction ! 

SADIE.  Oh,  Sunshine  Junction  is  all  right  —  there 
ain't  enough  of  us  to  scare  up  any  spirit  —  but  some 
tough  customers  stroll  in.  I  had  a  tussle  with  an 
escaped  convict  once  upon  a  time. 

LANSING.      You  had  a  tussle  ? 

SADIE.  Sure.  I  was  the  only  one  here  when  he  blew 
in,  so  it  was  up  to  me  to  get  him. 

LANSING.     Great  heavens,  girl  —  what  did  you  do  ? 

SADIE.  Got  him  into  this  cubby  hole,  locked  the  door 
back  here  (motions),  and  then  stood  outside  the  window 
there,  yelling  until  help  came. 

LANSING.     But  he  might  have  killed  you. 

SADIE.  Oh,  don't  you  think  it.  I  had  a  pistol  and 
he  didn't  —  so  it  don't  sound  so  much  like  a  hold-up 
after  all. 

LANSING.  It  sounds  risky  enough  to  hope  that  all 
the  other  excitements  are  of  a  different  kind. 


KTTH    IX   A  RUSH  59 

SADIE.  Well,  rather.  Elopements  are  right  in  our 
line. 

LANSING.     Elopements  ? 

SADIE.  Sure.  We're  near  the  state  line  —  and 
right  across  is  where  .  they  all  go.  (Suspiciously.) 
You  don't  happen  to  be  eloping  yourself,  do  you? 

LANSING.      N"ot  this  time. 

SADIE.     Seeing  the  young  lady,  you  know  — 

LANSING.  It  isn't  always  wise  to  trust  to  circum- 
stantial evidence. 

SADIE.  And  if  you  hadn't  bought  those  tickets  to 
\Yillowdene,  I'd  a-thought  you  might  be  the  man  we're 
expecting. 

LANSING.      Hope  I  haven't  disappointed  you. 

SADIE.  No  disappointment  about  it.  For  the  man 
happens  to  be  on  his  way  to  the  lunatic  asylum  in  the 
city. 

LANSING.      What? 

SADIK.  Oh,  he  ain't  crazy  —  but  he's  taking  a 
young  girl  who  is.  And  we're  half  way  expecting  them 
here  in  time  for  the  night  train  to  the  city  —  they  come 
from  up  country. 

LANSING.      Has  the  girl  —  quite  lost  her  mind? 

SADIE.  It's  been  gone  ever  since  her  lover  was  killed 
-  poor  little  voung  thing,  too,  they  say.  Sad,  ain't 
it? 

I,  \\SI\G.     Yes,  sad  indeed. 

SADIE.  I  hope  she  ain't  violent  —  for  I  don't  want 
to  be  made  to  use  force. 

LANSING.  It  seems  to  me  that  with  all  your  talents, 
you're  capable  of  a  bigger  job,  Miss  —  Miss — (in- 
'l"it'htyly)  Miss 

SADIE  (promptlij).  Sodastrom  —  Sadie  Sodastrom. 
Sounds  like  a  drink  or  medicine,  don't  it? 


60  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

LANSING.     It  sounds  —  alliterative. 

SADIE.-     What's  that? 

LANSING.  Something  that  appeals  to  me.  You  see, 
I'm  a  writer. 

SADIE.  You  don't  say  so !  I've  always  wanted  to 
see  a  real  writer.  (After  a  critical  inspection.)  You 
look  like  anybody  else. 

LANSING.     Thanks. 

SADIE.      It's  a  job  that  don't  pay  very  well,  ain't  it? 

LANSING.     That  depends. 

SADIE.  You  see  —  ( the  telegraph  instrument 
sounds) — gracious,  there's  a  message.  (Disappears. 
The  sound  continues  for  a  few  moments  and  SADIE  re- 
turns to  window.)  Say,  you're  going  to  have  some 
wait.  That  there  frisky  local  ain't  intending  to  show 
up  until  six  —  and  land  knows  if  it'll  get.  here  then. 
There's  been  a  wash-out  on  the  road. 

LANSING.  So  we're  surely  stranded !  Well,  there 
seems  to  be  local  color. 

SADIE.  Color?  I  don't  see  how  you  can  spot  any 
color  on  a  messy  day  like  this!  (Suddenly.)  Say? 

LANSING.     Yes? 

SADIE.  If  that  there  instrument  clicks  —  or  if  any- 
body wants  me  —  you'll  find  me  in  the  first  house  across 
the  road.  I've  got  a  cake  in  the  oven  and  I've  also  got 
a  feeling  that  it's  waiting  to  be  taken  out. 

LANSING.     Run  along,  then.     I'll  keep  store. 

SADIE.  There  won't  be  anything  to  do.  I'm  just 
mentioning  all  this  in  case  that  there  should  be. 

LANSING.      Count  on  me. 

SADIE.      So-long,  then.      (Disappears.) 

LANSING  leans  against  the  window,  laughing,  as 
GRANT  opens  the  door  in  great  excitement. 

GRANT.     There  are  signs  of  life. 


KITH    IN   A   Rl'SH  61 

LAXSIXG.  Decidedly.  And  I've  just  learned  that 
the  local  won't  be  in  until  six.  So  go  back  and  talk  to 
her. 

GRANT.  How  do  you  know  that  I've  been  talking 
to  any  one.' 

LAXSIXG.  Because  I've  been  scraping  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  other  one.  So  —  with  utter  oblivion  as 
to  the  weather  —  let  us  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines. 

GRAXT.  Perhaps  you  won't  be  so  enthusiastic  when 
you  hear  that  they're  both  on  their  way  to  Willowdene. 

LANSING.      What? 

GRANT.  Yes,  they  are.  They're  probably  —  very 
probably  —  members  of  the  same  house  party  —  and 
it  stands  to  reason  that  one  of  them  is  the  heiress. 

LANSING.      How  did  you  find  out  all  this? 

GRAXT.  I  was  working  on  the-  car  when  some  one 
.said  very  softly  — "  Can  you  tell  me  if  the  train  to  Wil- 
lowdene is  on  timer"  I  looked  up  —  and  there  she 
stood ! 

LANSING.  Judging  from  your  expression,  you  didn't 
mind  looking  at  her. 

GRANT.  I  guess  not.  Gil,  for  an  heiress,  she  is  cer- 
tainly —  one  —  big  —  peach  ! 

LAX.SIXC.      How  do  you  know  she's  the  heires>' 

GRAXT.  I  don't  know  it,  of  course  —  but  some  way, 
I  feel  that  she's  the  one.  There's  something  indefinably 
cultivated  —  and  aloof  —  and  princessy —  about  her. 

I*\XSIN<;.      She  doesn't  sound  good  to  me. 

GRAXT.  Just  wait  until  you  meet  her.  She's  fasci- 
nating—  (sighs)  —  even  if  she  is  an  heiress. 

LAXSIXC.  Well,  the  friendly,  pleasant  and  compan- 
ionable girl  7  met  can't  be  any  such  atrocity. 

GRANT  ( absent -mindedly).  Isn't  it  hard  luck  that 
she  should  have  all  that  money? 


62  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

LANSING.     Hard  luck? 

GRANT.  I  don't  want  any  girl  who  has  a  lot  of 
money. 

LANSING  (laughing}.      So  it's  gone  that  far,  has  it? 

GRANT  (coming  to  himself).     Go  to  thunder. 

LANSING.  I  am.  Also  to  the  r.ain  and  the  lightning. 
Those  girls  probably  want  to  get  out  of  the  storm  — 
and  are  waiting  for  us  to  give  them  the  chance.  (Starts 
toward  door.) 

GRANT.  Wait  a  moment.  Do  you  suppose  that 
they  know  that  we  are  in  this  house  party? 

LANSING.  They  probably  have  heard  that  there  are 
to  be  other  guests.  But  as  to  us  —  well,  they  don't 
even  know  where  we're  going.  I  bought  the  tipkets  a 
few  moments  ago  —  and  nobody  was  around. 

GRANT.  Just  the  same  —  suppose  we  don't  tell  our 
names.  There's  no  use  in  it. 

LANSING.  Just  as  you  say.  Come  along.  (Ex- 
eunt.) 

In  just  a  few  moments  RUTH  and  JULIET  enter. 

JULIET  (slamming  the  door).  That  man  must  think 
I  pursue  him.  Every  time  he  emerges  I'm  at  his  heels. 

KITH  (crossing  to  R.)  Nonsense.  You  weren't  at 
his  heels,  and,  anyway,  every  traveler  has  a  right  to 
the  waiting  room.  Come  over  here  and  sit  down. 

JULIET  (as  they  seat  themselves).  They  seem  to  be 
gentlemen,  so  let's  be  thankful  for  that.  And  they  will 
probably  be  leaving  us  at  any  moment. 

RUTH.     Oh,  no  they  won't ! 

JULIET.     Why  not? 

RUTH.  In  the  first  place,  their  gasoline  is  out;  in 
the  .second  place,  I  heard  my  friend  ask  for  two  tickets 
to  Willowdene.  (Throws  off  her  rain  coat.) 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  63 

JULIET.      To  Willozvdene! 

RUTH.     That  very  place. 

JULIET.  Ruth  —  do  you  suppose  —  oh,  could  it 
be- 

Rt'TH.  The  millionaire  and  the  distinguished  un- 
known? I  don't  doubt  it. 

JII.IKT.  Well,  my  man  isn't  the  millionaire  —  that's 
certain.  Anybody  who  can  regulate  his  own  car  - —  and 
who  is  so  absolutely  natural  and  simple  in  his  man- 
ner —  cant  be  a  plutocrat. 

HI-TIL  Well,  his  friend  is  just  as  natural  and  sim- 
ple—  and  I'm  just  as  sure  that  he  isn't  the  plutocrat. 
So  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it? 

JULIET  (luuyhhiy).  Eliminate  the  millionaire. 
Anyway,  these  may  be  two  guests  of  whom  we  haven't 
heard. 

KITH.  Oh,  no,  they're  not  —  for  Jean  is  having 
only  the  four  of  us.  She's  probably  informed  them  of 
our  charms  —  but,  still,  they  have  no  reason  to  suspect 
that  we  arc  the  other  guests. 

JULIKT.  Oh,  haven't  they?  I  asked  the  man  with 
the  car  all  about  the  train  to  Willowdene  —  so  it  won't 
take  long  for  the  two  of  them  to  reach  certain  con- 
clusions. 

RUTH.  Hut  the  if  don't  know  that  we  know  that 
they're  on  their  way  to  Willowdene.  You  see  —  I  lis- 
tened outside  the  door  —  while  he  was  buying  his 
tickets. 

JULIET.  Oh,  it's  getting  horribly  mixed!  Nobody 
knows  who  the  other  person  is ! 

RUTH.  And  nobody  cares.  We'll  let  it  remain  hor- 
ribly mixed  —  and  under  no  circumstances  are  we  to 
give  our  names.  If  we  must  be  designated  —  let  it  be 
Ruth  and  Juliet.  That  won't  mean  anything. 


64  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

JULIET.  Aren't  we  taking  a  great  deal  for  granted 
—  and  being  a  little  premature  in  our  plans?  The 
gentlemen  may  not  care  to  take  advantage  of  the  situa- 
tion —  and  we  may  not  see  them  again  until  we  get  to 
our  destination. 

RUTH.  "  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs  "  -  I  think 
they  will.  (As  the  door  slowly  opens.)  What  did  I 
tell  you?  (Draws  out  her  bag  and  opens  it.)  Get  a 
magazine  —  and  try  to  look  perfectly  unconcerned. 
(Each  takes  a  magazine  from  the  bag,  and  again  RUTH 
shoves  it  under  the  seat.) 

LANSING  and  GRANT  enter,  looking  a  trifle  conscious 
and  apologetic.  They  seat  themselves  at  the  back  of 
the  room,  throw  off  their  caps,  produce  their  newspap- 
ers and  try  to  appear  engrossed  in  current  topics. 
With  much  subdued  chattering,  the  girls  settle  down  to 
their  reading  and  an  enforced  silence  ensues,  broken 
only  by  an  occasional  frenzied  rustling  of  papers,  and 
v^aried  only  by  the  numerous  intercepted  glances. 

RUTH  (in  a  whisper).  Jule,  they  haven't  read  a 
word  —  I've  watched  them. 

JULIET  (also  in  a  whisper).  Well  —  neither  have 
we. 

(The  awkwardness  of  the  situation  increases,  and 
finally  LANSING,  in  exasperation,  throws  down  his  pa- 
per, rises,  and  walks  to  front  of  stage,  where  he  turns 
and  addresses  the  girls.) 

LANSING.  Conventions  are  absurd  and  hampering 
things.  Here  we  are,  four  bored  mortals,  stranded  of 
necessity  in  the  same  station  and  the  same  room  for  two 
long  hours. 

RUTH   (gasping).     Oh  —  is  the  train  that  late? 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  65 

LANSING.  It's  that  late.  Now,  don't  you  think  it 
would  be  ridiculous  for  us  to  ignore  each  other  when 
the  obviously  sensible  thing  to  do  is  to  get  acquainted 
and  have  a  pleasant  wait  of  it? 

RUTH.  Why,  of  course,  it's  the  sensible  thing  to  do. 
Why  have  you  been  so  long  in  suggesting  it? 

JULIET.  Especially,  when  each  of  us  has  indulged  in 
a  preliminary  conversation  with  each  of  you? 

GRANT  (rising  and  joining  LANSING).  My  dear 
young  lady  —  (as  JULIET  smiles)  —  Now,  what's  funny 
about  that? 

JULIET.     You're  so  nice  and  grand-fatherly. 

GRANT  (in  relief).     Then  I'm  perfectly  safe. 

JULIET.  And  we  immediately  suspend  all  conven- 
tions. 

RUTH.  We'll  all  be  known  bv  our  first  names.  I'm 
Ruth. 

LANSING.      I'm  Bert. 

JULIET.      I'm  Juliet. 

GRANT.     Then  I'll  be  Romeo. 

RUTH.  Now,  we're  all  settled  —  and  if  we  don't  suit 
each  other,  we  can  become  perfect  strangers  when  the 
train  conies  in. 

GRANT.      Not  much  danger  of  that. 

JULIET  (motioning}.  Sit  here,  Romeo,  and  let's  talk 
about  the  family  feud.  (GRANT  *//.v  by  her.) 

LANSING  (returning  to  back  of  stage).  Come  over 
to  my  side,  Ruth,  and  we'll  play  Robinson  Crusoe. 

KITH.  If  you'll  let  me  call  you  Friday  instead  of 
Bert. 

LANSING.      Anything  unlucky  about  Friday? 

RUTH  (crossing  to  him).  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  was 
thr  luckiest  thing  that  ever  happened  to  Robinson 
Crusoe. 


66  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

LANSING.     Then  Friday  I  am  1 

RUTH  (a*  they  seat  themselves}.  How  did  you  find 
out  about  this  latest  freak  of  tjhe  local? 

LANSING.      Heard  it  ticked  off  - 

RUTH.  And  interpreted  by  the  lady  at  the  ticket 
window,  I  suppose. 

LANSING.  The  same.  Said  lady  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  when  it  comes  to  real  excitement,  Sunshine 
Junction  is  right  on  the  map. 

JULIET.     Excitement?     Here? 

LANSING.     Here.      Escaped  convicts  are  a  specialty. 

GRANT.     Quite  metropolitan   that. 

LANSING.     And  also  —  eloping  couples. 

JULIET.      Oh  —  what  fun! 

LANSING.     And  lunatics. 

RUTH.     Lunatics? 

LANSING.  One  is  scheduled  for  this  very  afternoon. 
Some  poor  young  thing  whose  lover  went  west. 

RUTH.     Oh  —  don't. 

LANSING.  Anyway  —  if  you  think  you're  on  a  des- 
ert isle,  guess  again.  As  our  friend  Wordsworth  says, 
"  The  world  is  too  much  with  us." 

JULIET.  I  believe  it.  If  we  were  to  investigate  a 
little  further,  we  should  probably  find  an  up-to-date 
cafe  in  the  vicinity  of  the  depot. 

GRANT.  How  can  you  mention  it,  Juliet?  Let  me 
inform  you  that  my  friend  and  I  had  a  scanty  lunch, 
that  it  is  tea  time  —  and  that  there's  everything  in  the 
power  of  suggestion. 

RUTH   (thoughtfully).     Tea  wouldn't  be  bad. 

GRANT.     Or  sandwiches  — 

RUTH.  Or  little  cakes.  (Glances  at  LANSING  who 
seems  lost  in  thought.)  Don't  look  so  glum  over  the 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  67 

situation,  Friday  —  or  is   it   possible  that  our  bill  of 
fare  doesn't  appeal  to  you? 

LAXSIXG.  I  happen  to  be  thinking  of  a  little  hostelry 
in  the  Austrian  Tyrol,  where  —  once  upon  a  time  —  I 
indulged  in  the  most  indescribable  of  dinners. 

JULIET.  And  I  happen  to  be  thinking  of  a  darling 
little  inn  tucked  away  in  a  village  of  France  —  with 
dainty  white  curtains  and  pots  of  red  geraniums  — 
where  one  is  fed  delicious  souffles,  and  heavenly  salads 
and  dream  puddings.  (Sighs.)  I  wish  we  were  all 
there! 

LAXSIXG.  Oh,  come  now,  Juliet  —  that's  too  ethe- 
real. Let's  run  up  to  London  and  indulge  in  some  real 
roast  beef  on  piping  hot  plates  with  boiled  potatoes 
and  Brussels  sprouts  as  accessories. 

Jn.iKT.  In  summer  time?  No,  thanks.  Me  for 
Devonshire  and  an  arbor  surrounded  by  hollyhocks  and 
daisies  where  I  can  eat  strawberries  and  cream  to  my 
heart's  content. 

GRANT.  Aren't  you  traveled  and  uppish,  both  of 
you?  We  have  no  such  lofty  notions,  have  we,  Ruth? 

RUTH.  Hardly.  Why,  I'd  be  content  with  any 
kind  of  an  ice-cream  that  any  kind  of  a  drug  store 
could  furnish ! 

Jn.iKT.  What  a  gastronomical  picture  we've 
painted  ! 

LAXSIXG.  Beginning  in  the  Tyrol  and  ending  in  a 
corner  drug  store ! 

GRANT  (rising).  But  it's  going  to  end  right  here  in 
Sunshine  Junction  station.  I'm  wondering  if  Juliet 
will  help  me  make  a  survey  of  the  >urrounding  count rv. 
For  I  intend  to  beg,  borrow  or  steal  enough  to  furnish 
us  with  a  substitute  for  afternoon  tea. 

Jn.iKT  (rifting).      What  fun!     Of  course  I'll  go. 


68  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

RUTH.  And  while  you  are  foraging  I'll  keep  the 
home  fires  burning. 

JULIET.     In  what,  please? 

RUTH  (pointing).  That  stove.  I've  had  my  eye  on 
it  for  some  time  —  and  I  see  possibilities. 

JULIET.     What  nonsense ! 

RUTH.     You  won't  say  so  —  later  on. 

GRANT.  Are  you  really  game,  Juliet,  about  going 
out  in  all  this  rain? 

JULIET.  So  game  that  I  won't  play  at  all  unless  you 
take  me  along.  - 

GRANT.  Then  off  we  go  —  and  who  knows  but  that 
the  heavens  will  rain  manna  upon  us!  (Opens  the 
door. ) 

RUTH.     Please  bring  me  some  tea. 

JULIET.  But,  Ruth  —  we  have  no  way  of  making 
tea. 

RUTH.  Never  mind  about  that.  Just  bring  me  the 
tea. 

GRANT.  You  bet  we'll  bring  it.  (Exeunt  GRANT 
and  JULIET.) 

RUTH  (jumping  up).  This  is  what  I  call  real  fun 
—  and  a  real  adventure.  (Comes  down  stage.)  I've 
always  wanted  to  be  cast  upon  a  desert  island  with 
nothing  to  rely  upon  but  my  own  ingenuity  — 

LANSING  (following).  And  your  man,  Friday. 
Don't  leave  him  out. 

RUTH.      I  couldn't.      Has  he  a  match? 

LANSING  (producing  a  match  safe).  Plenty  of 
them. 

RUTH.     And  a  newspaper? 

LANSING.  Enough  to  start  a  bonfire.  (Takes  pa- 
pers from  pocket  and " throws  rain  coat  to  back  of 
stage.) 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  69 

RUTH.  Then  —  let's  get  to  work.  (Goes  to  stove 
and  opens  door.}  Look!  Some  real  coal  in  it  —  and 
(points  to  wood)  — some  wood  —  and  (taken  lid  from 
stove)  the  top  comes  off.  .Hurrah  for  our  cup  of  tea! 

LANSING.  I  have  faith  in  your  magic  wand,  Ruth 
—  but  I  don't  see  — 

RT-TH  (kneeling  in  front  of  stove).  Of  course  you 
don't  see.  Let's  make  the  fire  —  and  then  we'll  dem- 
onstrate. (Together  they  lay  the  wood  and  news- 
paper, while  LANSING  applies  the  match.)  Do  you 
think  it  will  burn? 

LANSING.  Sure.  (As  she  crosses  to  R..  and  opens 
her  trareUng  bag.)  Now  what  are  you  planning  to 
evolve  —  a  tea  kettle  and  some  tea  cups?  (F'ollows.) 

RfTit.  How  did  you  ever  guess  it?  (Takes  out  a 
large  boj\  lai/s  the  lid  on  the  seat  and  empties  the 
remaining  marsh  mallows  in  the  lid.)  This  (waring 
box)  is  our  tea-kettle  - —  bend  a  nice  little  spout  in  it, 
will  you?  (He  takes  it.)  And  here  are  our  tea  cups. 
(Takes  paper  cups  from  bag.)  Six  perfectly  good 
paper  drinking  cups. 

LANSING.  You're  a  wizard.  (Flourishes  box.) 
How's  that  for  a  spout? 

RUTH  (taking  it).  Corking.  Now,  all  we  need  is 
a  handle  —  and  that's  in  the  Capulet  bag.  (Goes  to 
back  of  stage,  opens  JPLIET'S  bag  and  draws  out  curling 
tongs  which  she  snaps  on  the  box.)  Now  with  a  littk- 
turn  —  and  twist  —  so  —  we  have  — 

LANSING.  A  saucepan.  I  insist  that  it  is  a  sauce- 
pan instead  of  a  tea  kettle. 

RUTH.  I  believe  you're  right.  Anyway  it's  mi/  in- 
vention. (Runs  to  store  and  peeps  in.)  And  —  oh, 
Friday —  the  fire's  burning! 


70  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

LANSING.  Of  course  it  is.  That  newspaper  was  hot 
stuff. 

RUTH.  No  time  for  silly  jokes !  Get  me  some  water 
in  this  saucepan  —  just  enough  to  scald  it. 

LANSING  (as  he  takes  it).  Shall  I  stand  outside  and 
let  the  rain  fall  into  it? 

RUTH.  You're  not  very  observing,  Friday,  or  that 
stunning  water  cooler  would  have  impressed  itself  in- 
delibly upon  your  mind.  (Points.) 

LANSING.  My  mind  —  and  eyes  —  have  been  other- 
wise occupied.  (Draws  water  from  cooler.) 

RUTH.  There  —  that's  enough.  (As  she  takes  off 
the  stove  lid,  LANSING  places  the  box  upon  the  stove.) 
You  aren't  much  of  a  domestic  treasure,  are  you? 

LANSING.  Didn't  we  agree  not  to  ask  personal  ques- 
tions? 

RUTH.  We  did  —  and  I  stand  corrected.  (Mis- 
chievously.) But,  just  the  same  —  you  aren't. 

LANSING.      But  yon  are. 

RUTH  (langhing).  Just  because  I  know  how  to  con- 
struct a  saucepan  and  to  boil  water?  (As  GRANT  and 
JULIET  enter.)  Did  you  have  any  luckr 

JULIET.     It  depends  upon  what  you  call  luck. 

LANSING.  You  certainly  don't  look  as  if  you'd 
bought  out  the  town. 

GRANT.  Naturally,  we  didn't  feel  like  invading  pri- 
vate homes  —  but  we  did  find  a  funny  little  shop  where 
an  equally  funny  little  woman  very  grudgingly  parted 
with  her  few  wares.  (Hands  small  parcel  to  RUTH.) 
Here's  your  tea,  Ruth. 

RUTH.     Well  —  that  helps. 

JULIET  (handing  another  small  parcel  to  RUTH). 
And  enough  sugar,  I  hope. 

GRANT  (producing  lemon  from  one  pocket).     Also  a 


RUTH   IN  A  RUSH  71 

lemon.  {Critically  regards  it.)  Even  the  most  daunt- 
less optimist  must  confess  that  it  has  outlived  its  use- 
fulness. 

JULIET  (waring  a  cracker  box).  And  some  crackers 
—  the  nice,  big  old-fashioned  kind.  (Throws  rain  coat 
off,  B.) 

GRANT  (producing  cheese  from  the  other  pocket.) 
And  cheese.  (Sniff's.)  It's  the  kind  that  believes  in 
advertising  itself. 

LANSING  (at  store).  Please,  cook,  the  water's  boil- 
ing. 

RUTH  (turning  to  him).  That's  just  to  sterilize  the 
box.  Now  throw  it  out  and  re-fill  for  the  tea. 
(LANSING  obeys.) 

JULIET  (examining  box).  Well  of  all  queer  looking 
contrivances ! 

RUTH.  You're  just  cross  because  those  tongs  si- 
lently reveal  to  the  assembled  multitude  the  fact  that 
your  hair  doesn't  curl  naturally.  Open  the  crackers 
and  make  a  nice  little  tea  ball  for  me  out  of  vour  clean- 
est, freshest  handkerchief.  ( JULIET  busies  herself  at 
K.) 

LANSING  (placing  box  on  store).  Put  Romeo  to 
work. 

RUTH.  He's  good  at  sword  play  so  he  may  slice  the 
lemon  and  cut  the  cheese.  (Sniffs.)  Perhaps,  you'd 
better  go  out  into  the  open  for  that  operation,  Romeo. 
(Takes  tea  which  JULIET  has  tied  into  one  end  of  a 
handkerchief.) 

GRANT  (throwing  rain  coat  on  seat  at  back  of  stage 
and  systematically  going  through  his  pockets).  By 
Jove  —  I  don't  believe  I  have  a  knife. 

LANSING.  Then  —  try  mine.  (Hands  him  a  knife.) 
Though  that  lemon  needs  a  razor.  (Sniffs  as  GRANT 


72  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

slices  cheese.)  You  needn't  count  me  in  on  the  cheese 
deal. 

GRANT  (slicing  lemon).  Now  what's  the  matter  with 
the  cheese?  "  A  rose  by  any  other  name  would  smell 
as  sweet." 

RUTH.  Something  wrong  with  your  sense  of  smell, 
Mr.  Montague. 

JULIET  (crossing  to  GRANT).  Lend  me  your  knife, 
Romeo.  This  box  seems  to  be  nailed  together. 
(Sniffs.)  Dear  me !  Don't  you  think  it's  a  bit  strong? 
(Uses  knife,  then  lays  it  upon  seat.) 

GRANT  (reproachfully).  Even  you,  Juliet,  stand 
against  me. 

JULIET  (pointing  to  cheese).  How  can  I  stand  with 
you? 

GRANT.  Then  out  it  goes — (dramatically).  And 
if  your  feast  is  cheeseless,  blame  not  the  Montague ! 
(Goes  to  door  and  throws  out  the  cheese.)  Sounds  like 
Shakespeare,  doesn't  it?  Shows  that  any  old  fellow 
can  talk  in  blank  verse  if  he  half  tries. 

LANSING.     Just  finding  that  out? 

RUTH  (at  stove).  Water's  almost  ready  for  the  tea. 
Drag  out  the  suit  cases,  Romeo,  and  you  and  Juliet  can 
be  guests.  Friday  and  I  will  do  the  honors.  (GRANT 
and  JULIET  seat  themselves  on  suit  cases  at  C.) 

GRANT  (as  LANSING  presents  each  with  a  paper  cup). 
What's  this  ? 

LANSING.  It's  your  tea  cup.  Don't  act  as  if  you'd 
never  been  out  in  polite  society. 

RUTH  (following  with  tin  box).  I  pour  some  water 
—  so  —  hold  it  steady,  Romeo  —  then  drop  in  the  tea 
ball —  (holds  it  in  water  for  a  moment)  — and  there 
you  are!  Follow  with  the  lemon  and  the  sugar,  Fri- 
day. (Passes  on  to  JULIET.) 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  73 

LANSING.     Where  is  the  lemon? 

GRANT.     Over  by  the  cheese  knife. 

LANSING.  Great  heavens!  The  lemon  won't  have  a 
chance.  ( Crosses. ) 

KITH.  You  must  stir  your  tea  with  the  knife  as  we 
haven't  spoons.  Bring  it  along,  Friday,  and  I'll  pass 
the  sugar.  (To  GRANT  as  she  opens  the  package  of 
xn  gar.)  How  much  shall  I  shake  out? 

GRANT.  A  lot.  (Makes  wry  face  as  he  tastes  it.) 
This  tea  needs  something. 

RUTH.      That  isn't  nice  to  say  when  I  made  it. 

LANSING  (stirring  GRANT'S  tea  rigorously  with 
knife).  I  should  say  not.  You  don't  need  any  lemon 
after  that  remark. 

JULIET  (to  RUTH).  I  don't  want  that  sugar  —  it 
looks  dirty.  (Critically.)  I  don't  care  for  any  lemon, 
either. 

RUTH.  Well  of  all  particular  creatures!  (Points 
to  crackers  which  JULIET  still  holds.)  Pass  the  crack- 
ers, Jule.  Perhaps  they  will  help  out.  (RUTH  and 
LANSING  stand  at  stove  with  backs  to  GRANT  and 

Jl    I.IKT.  ) 

LANSING.      Now  let  me  fix  your  tea  for  you. 

RUTH.  No  —  you're  first,  Friday — (as  he  pro- 
tects) —  oh,  I  insist.  Here's  your  cup.  (He  holds  it 
as  she  pours  the  water  and  lowers  the  tea  ball.)  Shall 
I  make  it  strong? 

LANSING  (without  taking  his  eyes  off  her).  Make  it 
any  old  way. 

RUTH.      Sugar? 

LANSING.      Do  you  think  I  need  it? 

KITH.  We  aren't  to  ask  personal  questions,  you 
know.  (Pauses.)  Lemon? 

LANSING.      I  hope  you  don't  think  so. 


74  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

RUTH.     I  don't. 

JULIET  (who,  in  the  meantime,  has  presented  GRANT 
with  a  cracker).  I  never  saw  such  crackers.  I  can't 
even  get  my  teeth  through  them. 

GRANT  {gloomily).  Crackers?  They're  dog  bis- 
cuit. 

RUTH  (TP/IO,  -with  LANSING,  has  been  oblirwns  to  tin- 
others).  Now,  drink  my  health. 

LANSING.  With  all  my  heart.  (Drinks.)  It's 
heavenly  brew. 

GRANT.      This  stuff  doesn't  seem  to  mix. 

JULIET.  And  the  cup  is  so  hot  that  I  can't  hold  it, — 
and  it's  dreadful  to  drink  it  all  at  once. 

RUTH  (as  LANSING  proceeds  to  fill  her  cup  and  to 
make  the  tea).  You  are  a  domestic  treasure,  Friday. 
I  take  back  everything  I  said  to  the  contrary. 

LANSING.      Xow  suppose  you  drink  mi/  health. 

RUTH.  With  all  my  heart.  (Drinks.)  It  isn't  so 
bad,  is  it? 

JULIET.  Well,  Ruth!  I  should  think  that  your  ali- 
mentary canal  would  be  scalded !  Think  of  drinking  it 
down  like  that!  (\o  answer.)  I  don't  believe  that 
you  two  know  what  you  are  doing. 

(iHAvr.  And  they  certainly  don't  know  what  we're 
saying.  (IHxat.)  C'ome  along,  Juliet  —  now's  the 
time  to  ditch  the  food.  (The//  tiptoe  to  the  door  and 
disappear.) 

RUTH.  How  about  that  indescribable  dinner  in  the 
Austrian  Tyrol,  Friday? 

LANSING.      I've  forgotten  it  —  now. 

RUTH.  And  can  you  think  upon  the  roast  beef  and 
the  boiled  potatoes  and  the  Brussels  sprouts  without  a 
regret  ? 

LANSING.     Without  a  regret. 


RITH   IX  A  RUSH  75 

KITH.  I  don't  believe  it  — but  you're  a  dear  to  say 
so.  What  about  the  Devonshire  strawberries  and 
cream,  Jule?  (7Vr/i.v. )  Good  gracious,  they're  gone. 

I.AXSIXG.      We  don't   <M  H  .  do  we* 

Enter  Gi;  VK.T  and  JTIJKT 

GRAXT.  It's  stopped  raining — and  if  we  had  gaso- 
line we  could  all  be  on  our  way.  Do  you  suppose  there's 
a  drop  of  the  stuff'  in  this  benighted  burg,  Gil? 

LANSING.      We  might  investigate. 

RfTH  (crossing  to  If.).  A  brisk  walk  after  our 
heavy  meal  won't  hurt  u>.  anyway.  (Gathers  u]>  t)ie 
ptarshmattoms.}  Gather  up  the  trash,  Friday,  and  put 
it  all  in  the  box  by  the  stovr.  I'll  slip  on  my  coat. 
(She  put s  on  her  coat  ax  JnjKT  joins  her  at  JR.,  and 
as  GRAXT  and  I.  \xsi\c:  }>}acc  the  suit  cases  in  their 
former  positions  a-:d  dump  the  remains  of  the  tea-part// 
into  the  icood  bo.r. ) 

LANSING  (at  /,.).  No  doubt  of  which  one  is  the 
heiress,  is  there!"  Did  you  see  the  wav  in  which  the 
finicky  creature  spurned  her  tea  and  talked  of  Devon- 
shire strawberries .* 

GI;  VXT.  Wlio  could  have  swallowed  that  stuff  —  it 
was  rotten.  Anyway,  I  don't  care  if  she  is  the  heiress. 

LANSINC.      That  suits  me  all  right. 

.Iri.iKT  (at  If.).  Have  you  found  out  if  he  is  the 
millionaire? 

RVTII.      I  don't  care  if  he  is  a  rag  picker. 

JruKT.  A  noble  —  but  peculiar  sentiment  —  mv 
dear. 

GKAXT.      Come  on,  .Juliet.      We'll  go  ahead. 

Jn.iKT  (as  she  joins  him  at  door).  And  hla/.e  the 
trail.  (K.veunt  GKANT  and  .Jri.iKT.) 


76  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


RUTH  (coming  to  LANSING).  Friday,  what  did  Ro- 
meo call  you  a  moment  ago?  Gil? 

LANSING.  Bill,  I  guess.  It's  a  pet  name  he  has  for 
me.  Let  me  remind  you,  Ruth,  that  we're  not  to  ask 
each  other  personal  questions. 

RUTH  (as  they  pass  out  the  door).  Sometimes,  Fri- 
day, you're  very  irritating. 

Hardly  have  they  disappeared  when  the  door  cau- 
tiously opens  and  PEGGY  PAT  steps  in.  She  is  a  -woe 
begone  object  for  her  dainty  summer  gown  is  be- 
draggled —  and  a  long  dark  coat  has  not  wholly  pro- 
tected her  from  the  storm.  Her  flower-laden  hat 
droops  pathetically  and  her  white  pumps  are  heavily 
crusted  with  mud.  After  her  comes  LAMBERT,  attired 
in  a  light  summer  suit,  long  motor  coat  and  motor  cap. 
His  expression  can  best  be  described  as  perturbed. 

PEGGY  PAT  (as  she  limps  painfully  into  the  room). 
Oh  —  Dwight  —  I'll  never  elope  with  you  again !  If  I 
had  known  that  it  was  to  be  like  this,  I  should  not  have 
promised  you. 

LAMBERT  (helping  to  R.).  Now  —  now  —  Peggy 
Pat.  Don't  you  worry  —  it  will  soon  be  over. 

PEGGY  PAT  (sobbing  on  his  shoulder).  Oh,  you  don't 
know  that  it  will !  I  just  feel  that  something  is  going  to 
happen ! 

LAMBERT.  Nothing  can  happen  now  —  and  just  as 
soon  as  I  fix  that  car,  we'll  ride  right  over  that  bound- 
ary line  —  and  settle  everything. 

PEGGY  PAT  (as  they  seat  themselves).     I'm  afraid  — 

LAMBERT.     Afraid  of  what?     You're  with  me. 

PEGGY  PAT.  Yes  —  but  dad  is  after  us.  That 
makes  a  difference. 

LAMBERT.     You  don't  know  that  he's  after  us. 


RUTH   IX  A  RUSH  77 

PEGGY  PAT.  He  saw  me  get  in  the  car  —  and  hand 
you  the  suit  case.  (Wails.)  Oh,  why  did  he  come 
along  that  particular  street  just  at  that  particular 
moment ! 

LAMBERT.  He  probably  didn't  think  a  thing  about 
it. 

PEGGY  PAT.  Oh,  didn't  he?  Well,  if  he  told 
mother,  she  would  think  a  few  things  ! 

LAMBERT.  Well,  it  won't  take  me  long  to  regulate 
the  car,  so  if  you'll  stay  right  here  —  and  rest  — 
( kneels)  Here  —  off  come  the  slippers  —  that'll  help. 
(  Takes  them  off.} 

PEGGY  PAT  (tearfully  powdering  her  nose).  Oh, 
Dwight,  such  a  looking  bride  as  you'll  have! 

LAMBERT.      The  prettiest  in  the  world. 

PEGGY  PAT.  But  not  so  pretty  as  if  you'd  waited 
for  her  until  next  Wednesday. 

LAMBERT.     Are  you  sorry  —  that  I  didn't? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Sorry?  Would  I  be  here  if  I  were 
sorry? 

LAMBERT.  Wouldn't  you  rather  have  just  —  our- 
selves—  instead  of  all  that  mob? 

PEGGY  PAT  (putting  her  arms  around  his  neck). 
Oh,  you  know  I  should  —  you  know  it.  I  don't  want 
anything  in  the  world  right  now  but  you  —  I  mean  I 
don't  want  anything  but  to  get  married  —  but  that's 
the  same  as  you,  isn't  it?  (Hysterically.)  Oh,  dear 
—  I  don't  know  what  I  want ! 

LAMBERT.  Well,  don't  you  worry  —  I  know. 
( Riaes.)  And  now  —  I'll  be  off. 

PEGGY  PAT  (wailing).  Oh,  don't  leave  me  —  don't 
leave  me  — 

LAMBERT.      But  I  must,  dear. 

PECCY  PAT  (calmituj  down).      Of  course.      I'm  a  silly 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


idiot.      But  hurry  back  —  for  I  can't  help  being  fright- 
ened. 

LAMBERT.     You  bet  I'll  hurry.     (Rushes  off.) 

PEGGY  PAT,  left  to  herself,  looks  nervously  around, 
then  walks  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  takes  off  her  hat 
and  shakes  the  water  from  it.  Unseen  by  PEGGY  PAT, 
SADIE  appears  at  ticket  window. 

PEGGY  PAT  (to  herself).  Something's  going  to  hap- 
pen —  something's  going  to  happen  —  oh,  I  know  it. 
And  I  won't  go  back  —  I  won't  go  back  !  (Shakes  the 
hat  violently.)  Oh,  dear  —  oh,  dear  —  oh,  dear! 
(Her  voice  rises  to  a  shriek.) 

SADIE.  Sakes  alive  !  It's  worse  than  I  thought  it 
would  be  ! 

PEGGY  PAT  (wheeling  about).     What  do  you  mean? 

SADIE  (soothingly).  Nothing,  dearie,  nothing. 
Now  don't  get  excited. 

PEGGY  PAT  (at  window).     Who  are  you? 

SADIE  (patting  her  shoulder).  Just  a  friend,  dearie. 
Now  —  now  —  nobody's  going  to  hurt  you. 

PEGGY  PAT.     Why  should  anybody  hurt  me? 

SADIE.  Don't  you  worry  about  that.  (To  herself.) 
Poor  lamb  ! 

PEGGY  PAT.  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?  (  Wildly.) 
Has  anything  happened  to  him? 

SADIE.     Let's  not  talk  about  him. 

PEGGY  PAT.  But  we  will  talk  about  him.  (Desper- 
ately.) Tell  me. 

SADIE.     Tell  you  what? 

PEGGY  PAT.  What  you  meant  by  looking  as  if  you 
were  sorry  for  me. 

SADIE.     Now  I  didn't   mean   a   thing  in   the  world. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  79 

PEGGY  PAT.  Yes  —  you  did  —  and  I'm  going  to  see 
what's  the  matter.  (Starts  toward  door.) 

SADIE.     He  ain't  out  there,  dearie. 

PEGGY  PAT.  Then  where  is  he?  (Weakly.)  They 
haven't  caught  him,  have  they? 

SADIE.  Now  you  mustn't  think  about  him  any  more. 
It  can't  be  helped — and  — 

PEGGY  PAT.  Who  —  what?  Oh,  you  do  talk  so 
strangely ! 

SADIE  (to  herself,  nervously).  Dear  me!  I  wish 
he'd  come ! 

PEGGY    PAT    (excitedly).     Who's    coming?      Has  — 
anybody  —  told  --  you  —  to  —  look  —  out  —  for  — 
me1  ? 

SADIE.     Not  exactly  that  —  but  • — 

Enter  LAMBERT 

PEGGY  PAT  (running  to  him).  Oh,  Dwight  — 
Dwight !  She  says  such  queer  things  to  me ! 

LAMBERT   (soothingly).      Now —  now  — 

PEGGY  PAT.     And  she  knows  —  she  knows. 

SADIE.  I've  been  wondering  about  you,  young  man, 
and  was  beginning  to  got  worried.  (Nods  toward 
PK<;GY  PAT.)  Did  she  break  away? 

LAMBERT.     I  don't  believe  I  understand. 

SADIE.     You're  in  charge  of  her,  ain't  you? 

LAMBERT  (confused).  Why — yes  —  if  you  want 
to  put  it  that  way. 

SADIE.     Taking  the  night  train? 

LAMBERT  (still  more  perplexed).  Well  —  not  ex- 
actly. 

SADIE.     Well  —  they  said  you  were. 

l'i  C;GY  PAT.      Who  said? 


80  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

SADIE.  That  fellow  who  passed  through  here  yester- 
day. 

LAMBERT.      What  fellow? 

SADIE.  See  here,  young  man,  do  you  think  I  don't 
know  all  about  her? 

LAMBERT  (defiantly).     There  is  nothing  to  know. 

SADIE    (sarcastically).     Oh,    is    that    so?     Well  - 
she's  the  crazy  girl  we're  expecting  from  up  country. 

PEGGY  PAT  (indignantly).  Crazy!  Well,  I  never! 
Crazy!  You're  the  crazy  one ! 

LAMBERT.  Hush !  Come  over  here  and  put  on  your 
slippers.  (Leads  her  to  R.  and  "whispers  as  he  holds  the 
slippers  for  her.)  Don't  you  see  that  this  is  our  chance 
to  escape? 

PEGGY  PAT.  No,  I  don't.  The  idea  of  calling  me 
crazy ! 

LAMBERT.  Listen,  Peggy  Pat.  If  anybody  happens 
to  follow  and  we  are  clever  enough  to  manage  this  luna- 
tic stunt  —  it  means  a  get-away  for  us. 

PEGGY  PAT  (glaring  at  SADIE).  But  how  can  we 
manage  it? 

LAMBERT.     You  pretend  to  be  crazy. 

PEGGY  PAT.      But  I  don't  know  how  to  be  crazy. 

LAMBERT.  Act  just  as  you've  been  acting  all  after- 
noon. 

PEGGY  PAT  (angrily).  Why,  Dwight,  what  a  per- 
fectly horrid  thing  to  say. 

LAMBERT.  I  didn't  mean  —  that  —  honest  I  didn't. 
(As  PEGGY  PAT  sobs  hysterically.)  That's  bully  — 
keep  it  up.  (Strolls  back  to  the  window.) 

SADFE.  You're  pretty  young  to  have  charge  of  her, 
ain't  you? 

LAMBERT.  Well  —  you  see  —  she's  in  love  with  me 
—  and  — 


•  RUTH  IX  A   RUSH  81 

SADIE.  In  love  with  you?  Why  I  thought  that  her 
lover  had  died  and  that  his  death  caused  all  this  head 
trouble ! 

LAMBERT  (confused}.  Oh,  did  he?  I  mean  —  well 
—  she  —  in  fact  she  thinks  I'm  the  other  man. 

SADIE.  Oh  —  I  —  see.  Why  on  earth  did  they  let 
her  start  out  in  that  rig? 

LAMBERT.  She  wanted  to  wear  it  —  and  it's  best  to 
humor  them,  you  know. 

PEGGY  PAT  (weeping).  Oh,  dear  —  Oh,  dear  —  Oh, 
dear!  I  won't  go  back  —  I  won't  go  back  ! 

SADIE  (looking  sympathetically  at  PEGGY  PAT). 
Sad,  ain't  it?  (Hell  rings.)  That's  long  distance,  I 
suppose.  (  Disappears. ) 

PEGGY  PAT  (going  to  LAMBERT).  Did  I  do  that  all 
right  ? 

LAMBERT.      Bully ! 

SADIE  re-appears 

SADIE.  Don't  mind  if  I  put  down  the  window,  do 
you?  I  can't  hear.  (Pulls  down  the  window.) 

LAMBERT.  Now  we'll  beat  it.  Put  on  your  hat  — 
and  before  you  know  it,  we'll  be  across  that  state  line. 

PEGGY  PAT  has  just  adjusted  her  dejected  hat  and 
has  drarcn  her  coat  together,  when  the  door  opens  and 
RI-TII  followed  by  LAXSING  enters. 

Hi  TH  (in  amazement).  Dwight !  Peggy  Pat! 
What  arc  you  doing  here?  (LANSING  crosses,  back  of 
stage  to  It.  and  statuh  apart.} 

PEGGY  PAT.     What  are  you  doing  here? 

RKTH.     I'm  on  my  way  to  Jean's  for  a  week-end. 

PEGGY  PAT  (defiantly).     Well  —  we're  eloping! 

RTTH.     Eloping!     In  those  clothes? 


82  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  • 

PEGGY  PAT.  I  can't  help  the  clothes.  Dwight  had 
to  take  me  when  he  could  get  me  —  and  that  was  on  my 
way  to  a  luncheon. 

RUTH.     But  what  put  it  into  your  heads  to  elope? 

LAMBERT.     What  put  it  in  there?     Why,  yon. 

RUTH.     I? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Didn't  you  tell  us  that  it  was  the  only 
thing  to  do  ?  You  did  —  you  know  you  did. 

RUTH.  But,  my  dear  infants,  you  should  have  done 
it  sooner.  Your  wedding  invitations  are  out  —  your 
plans  are  made  — 

PEGGY  PAT.  And  I  just  couldn't  stand  another 
party !  So  when  mother  said  I  must  give  a  dinner  to 
the  bridesmaids,  I  broke  down  and  told  her  that  I'd 
scratch  out  their  eyes  if  I  had  to  look  at  them  another 
time. 

RUTH.     Peggy  Pat ! 

PEGGY  PAT.  Yes,  I  did  —  and  then  I  said  I'd  elope 
—  and  — 

RUTH.     Yes? 

PEGGY  PAT.      She  raved,  Ruth  —  yes,  she  raved  — 
So  Dwight  and  I  decided  that  we'd  do  it  —  and  we're 
not  sorry  —  are  we,  Dwight  ? 

LAMBERT  (as  he  puts  Ms  arms  about  her).  Sorry? 
Well,  I  guess  not. 

Enter  JULIET  and  GRANT 

JULIET.  Good  gracious!  (At  a  signal  from  LAX- 
SING,  GRANT  crosses  back  of  stage  to  R.  and  joins  him.) 
What  have  we  here? 

RUTH.     An  elopement. 

JULIET  (to  RUTH).  I  told  you  so  —  I  told  you  so. 
Now  you've  done  it,  Ruth.  (To  LAMBERT.)  Are  you 
on  the  wav  or  is  the  deed  alreadv  done? 


KUTH  IN  A  RUSH  83 

LAMBERT.  We're  on  our  way.  And  if  this  darned 
old  car  hadn't  needed  overhauling,  we  should  have  been 
married  by  this  time.  (Pleadingly.)  You  won't  tell 
on  us,  will  you,  Ruth? 

RUTH.     Tell  —  whom  ? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Dad.  He  saw  me  get  into  the  car  with 
a  suit  case  and  I  know  he's  on  our  trail. 

RUTH  (slowly}.     I  don't  know  that  I  approve  — 

LAMBERT.  Ruth  —  Ruth!  You  wouldn't  —  you 
couldn't  — 

PKGGY  PAT.      And  after  you  told  us  to  do  it ! 

RUTH  {laughingly).  Why,  you  dears,  I  wouldn't 
give  you  away  for  anything! 

LAMBERT.  Bully  for  you !  Now  we're  off  —  and 
there  isn't  a  single,  solitary  thing  to  keep  us  from  dash- 
ing right  over  that  dividing  line ! 

And  then  — just  as  they  are  about  to  make  a  trium- 
phal exit,  SADIE  enters  -  in  great  excitement  and  fairly 
bristling  with  importance. 

SADIE  (striking  n  dramatic  attitude).  Which  of  all 
this  bunch  is  the  elopers?  (For  a  moment  there  is  no 
response — then  RUTH  and  JULIET  more  to  C.  and 
LAMHEUT  with  PEGGY  PAT  down  L.  Each  looks  hope- 
lessly at  the  other.)  There's  no  use  in  trying  to  fool 
me  —  and  there's  no  use  in  trying  to  get  out  of  this. 
That  long  distance  call  was  from  a  policeman  and  we're 
ordered  to  keep  the  two  until  the  girl's  father  gets  here. 

LANSING.      You  can't    keep  people  against   their  will. 

SXDIK.      Oh,  can't  I: '      \\Y11,  you'll  find  out. 

PK<;<;Y  PAT  (crossing  to  HUTU  and  drawing  her 
<:sidc).  Oh,  Ruth  —  Ruth  —  save  us  -  save  us.  You 
can  —  and  you  must  -  hrcau>e  it's  your  fault  that 
v.  c're  eloping. 


84  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

RUTH.     How  can  I  save  you? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Pretend  that  you're  me.  Give  us  a 
chance  to  slip  out  —  and  after  that,  you  can  easily  ex- 
plain. Promise,  Ruth  —  oh,  promise. 

RUTH  (suddenly}.     Of  course  I'll  promise. 

SADIE  (stepping  to  C.).  Well  of  all  the  modest  out- 
fit! Are  you  ashamed  to  acknowledge  each  other? 
Now  —  speak  up. 

RUTH.     Well  —  I  will  speak  up.     I'm  the  culprit  — 
I'm  the  eloper  —  I'm  the  object  of  your  telephone  com- 
munication.    Now,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 

(In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  which  follows,  PEGGY 
PAT  steals  quietly  back  of  stage  and  joins  LAMBERT  at 
door.  They  slip  out,  unobserved.) 

JULIET.     Ruth!      (Crosses  to  GRANT.) 

SADIE.  Going  to  do  about  it?  Keep  you  right  here 
until  the  old  gentleman  who's  so  hot  after  you,  gets  a 
chance  to  nab  you.  (Pauses.)  Who's  your  partner? 

LANSING  (strolling  carelessly  to  RUTH'S  side). 
Why,  I  am,  of  course.  We've  kept  you  guessing  quite 
a  while,  haven't  we? 

SADIE.  Not  as  much  as  you  think.  I  had  my  sus- 
picions the  minute  you  asked  for  two  tickets  to  Willow- 
dene  —  though  why  you  should  be  going  that  way  in- 
stead of  across  the  line,  I  don't  know. 

LANSING.  If  we  prefer  to  be  married  at  Willowdene, 
whose  business  is  it? 

SADIE.  None  of  mine,  I'm  sure.  And  I  don't  mind 
saying  that  you're  the  oldest  looking  couple  to  be  elop- 
ing that  I  ever  saw.  (From  outside  comes  the  honk  of 
a  car.)  What's  that? 

GRANT.  Wedding  bells,  I  fancy.*  Too  bad  that 
we're  obliged  to  turn  the  tables  —  and  have  the  joke  on 
you? 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  85 

SADIE.     What  do  you  mean? 

RUTH.  That  the  two  youngsters  who  have  just 
escaped  are  the  real  culprits.  We're  only  make- 
believe. 

SADIE.     That'll  do  to  tell. 

KITH.     But  it's  true  —  they're  both  my  friends. 

SADIE.  Still,  it  don't  go  with  me  for  I  happen  to 
know  that  the  poor  little  girl  is  plumb  crazy  in  her  head 
—  and  the  young  fellow  is  taking  her  to  the  asylum. 

JULIET.      Oh  —  how  —  screamingly  —  funny  ! 

LANSING.      Did  they  own  up  to  that? 

SADIE.  Of  course  they  did.  Think  I'd  be  taking  it 
on  hearsay? 

LAXMNG.  Then  they  were  pretty  clever  to  put  it 
over. 

SADIK.  Oh  —  were  they?  Well,  I'm  not  accepting 
your  word  as  to  who  they  are  and  who  they  aren't. 
You're  the  ones  who  will  have  to  be  identified. 

Kirn.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  really  be- 
lieve we  are  the  elopers  —  and  that  you'd  dare  to  detain 
us  here? 

SADIE.  Oh  —  don't  I?  Well  —  just  to  show  you 
what  I  (Jo  mean  —  (produces  handcuffs  which  she  has 
had  hidden  in  her  dress).  There!  (Snaps  them  on 
hand  of  each.) 

LANSING.  This  is  an  insult — -ridiculous!  Takeoff 
these  things.  (Fro?n  out  aide  comes  a  train  whittle.) 

JUUET.      The  local ! 

SADIE.  Take  them  off?  Not  until  that  train  pulls 
>afe]y  out.  I've  got  to  do  my  duty. 

(TKAXT.  But  it's  imperative  that  we  all  take  that 
train. 

SADIE  (laconically).      Sorry.      (Goes  out.) 

GRANT  (to  LANSING).  Look  here  —  I  can't  leave 
vou  like  this. 


86  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

LAXSIXG   (smiling}.      Oh  —  yes  you  can. 

.•ULIET  (to  RUTH).     And  Ruth  —  what  am  /  to  do? 

RUTH.  Do?  You  and  Romeo  are  to  go  on  as  fast 
as  that  stupid  train  can  carry  you. 

JULIET  (catching  up  her  coat).      But  —  you  — 

RUTH.      I'll  be  all  right  —  Friday  will  see  to  that. 

JULIET.  And  I'll  see  that  Jean  sends  the  very  fastest 
car  she  has  - 

RUTH.  1  or  both  of  us.  By  that  time  we  shall  prob- 
ably be  acquitted. 

LANSING.  So  you  know  that  we,  too,  are  on  our  way 
to  Willowdenc. 

RUTH.  Of  course.  Everybody  knows  —  or  ought 
to  know  —  by  this  time  that  we  all  have  one  objective 
point.  Julc,  explain  everything  to  Romeo  —  and  for 
pity's  sake,  don't  miss  the  train.  Now  —  hurry. 

GRANT  (rr/jo  has  taken  JULIET'S  bag  and  his  own). 
Ready?  (Shaking  LAXSIXG'H  free  hand.)  Good-bye, 
old  fellow  —  never  thought  to  see  you  in  handcuffs. 

LANSING  (sharply).     Don't  stop  for  that. 

GRANT.  And  I  hate  to  leave  you.  (As  he  reaches 
door.)  In  f  ct  —  using  the  words  of  the  immortal 
Mnntayue  "  Parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow." 

LAXSIXG.     Get  out! 

JUJJET  (as  she  and  GRAXT  hurry  out  of  the  room). 
Till  later,  then.  Good-bye. 

(For  a  moment  there  is  absolute  silence  —  tlien  the 
train  shrieks  its  farewell  —  and  the  whistle  dies  away. 
RUTH  and  LAXSIXG  look  helplessly  at  each  other  and  at 
their  handcuffed  hands.) 

LAXSING  (laughing).  I  hope  you're  in  no  particular 
rush. 

RUTH.     For  once  in  my  life  —  I'm  not. 

CURTAIX 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

THK  THIRD  ACT 

SCEXE:  Stunt-  as  Act  II.  The  stage  grows  gradu- 
ally darker,  although  never  dark  enough  to  obscure  the 
characters. 

Curtain  rises  upon  SADIE  remoring  the  handcuffs 
from  RUTH  and  LANSIXC;  tcho  are  seated  at  K.  RI-TH'S 
hat  is  off,  her  face  is  flushed  and  smiling,  and  she  gives 
no  evidence  of  fatigue  or  discomfort.  LAXSIXG  is 
equally  gay  and  only  SADIE  adds  a  touch  of  gloom  to 
flic  scene.  She  gives  the  impression  of  being  officially 
misunderstood  and  yet  properly  apologetic  —  and  takes 
off  the  handcuffs  half  reluctantly. 

SADIE.     You  ain't  blaming  me  too  much,  are  you? 

LAXSIXG.  We're  not  blaming  you  at  all.  Devotion 
to  one's  duty  —  even  in  tlie  face  of  obstacles  —  is  more 
than  praiseworthy  —  it's  sublime. 

SADIE.      Don't  talk  slush. 

RI*TH.  And  I'll  always  be  indebted  to  you  for  an  ex- 
perience—  a  real  experience  —  and  a  sure'  enough  ad- 
venture. 

SADIE.      I  don't  see  where  the  adventure  comes  in. 

Ri'TH.  You  don't?  Not  everybody  has  the  oppor- 
tunity to  wear  handcuff's. 

SADIE.  That's  because  it  ain't  a  popular  opportun- 
ity. 

RTTH.  Why  —  even  jail  becomes  alluring  (laugh- 
ingly) —  if  I  can  take  along  my  side-partner. 

I- \\sixc,.  Comrades  in  crime!  Don't  tempt  me, 
Ruth. 

KITH.  Wouldn't  we  sound  well  in  print!  "  Un- 

87 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 


known  pair  in  Sunshine  Junction  Defuse  to  reveal  iden- 
tity —  aid  in  the  escape  of  an  eloping  couple  —  and  are 
arrested  and  handcuffed !  The  cross  in  the  accompany- 
ing photograph  shows  the  place  where  the  tragedy  oc- 
curred." 

LAXSIXG.  Don't  forget  the  scene  with  the  Irate 
Parent.  I  never  hope  to  see  a  madder  man  than  he 
when  he  discovered  you  in  the  place  of  his  wayward 
daughter. 

RTTH.  Which  leads  me  to  believe  that  whatever  af- 
fection he  has  had  for  me  is  now  a  thing  of  the  past. 

SADIE.     Do  you  think  he'll  catch  up  with  them? 

RUTH.  Never  in  the  world.  Love  laughs  at  pursu- 
ers —  as  well  as  at  locksmiths  —  especially  when  love 
has  the  start. 

LAXSING.     I  watched  the  departure  of  the  Parent  — 
and  he  headed  his  car  —  not  for  the  borderline  but  for 
home.      Down  in  his  heart  I  believe  he  is  glad  his  daugh- 
ter has  possessed  courage  enough  to  defy  convention. 

RUTH.  I  hope  so.  The  wrong  sort  of  convention 
ought  to  be  defied. 

SADIE.      What  do  you  mean? 

RUTH.  Oh,  the  silly  round  of  parties  —  the  ava- 
lanche of  trousseau  —  the  showy  wedding — and  — 

SADIE  (breathlessly}.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
she  gave  up  all  these  things  —  just  to  elope  with  that 
fellow? 

RUTH.     Why  not? 

SADIE  (in  great  disgtist).     Then  she  is  nutty. 

RUTH.  Every  reformer  falls  heir  to  that  criticism,  I 
believe. 

SADIE.  And  if  I  hadn't  just  heard  that  the  crazy 
pair  are  to  arrive  tomorrow,  I'd  still  think  she  was  that 
poor,  silly  young  thing.  (Walks  to  C.) 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  89 

RUTH.      Naturally. 

SADIE.  Honest  to  goodness  —  when  I  saw  her  walk- 
ing around  in  her  stocking  feet  and  waving  that  big  hat 
and  talking  to  herself — well — (pan. sen) — now  sec 
here  —  wouldn't  you  have  thought  she  was  the  lunatic? 

LANSING.      Undoubtedly. 

SAIMK.  It  ain't  often  that  I'm  taken  in  —  and  it 
kind-a-hurts  my  pride  to  be  fooled  twice  in  succession 
all  on  one  afternoon. 

RrTH.  I  shouldn't  look  at  it  that  way.  We  were  to 
blame  for  the  first  misunderstanding — and  as  to  t'u 
elopers  — 

SADIE.     They  would  have  fooled  anybody.      (He flee 
tireii/.)      You  just  ought  to  have  seen  that  silly  girl. 

RTTH.  Hut  love  makes  us  all  silly  —  and  you  must 
remember  that  poor  Peggy  Pat  had  -a  father  on  her 
trail. 

SADIK.  And  he  ought  to  have  caught  her.  Weak- 
minded  people  ain't  got  a  right  to  be  roaming  round  and 
scaring  other  people  into  fits. 

LANSING.  There's  one  thing  your  friend  failed  to 
utter,  Ruth. 

RTTH.  Really  f*  I  thought  his  vocabulary  unusu- 
ally complete. 

LANSING.      Your  name. 

Ri'TU.  He  has  always  been  so  much  of  a  family 
friend  that  —  fortunately  for  me  -  he  thinks  of  me 
only  in  the  terms  of  Ruth.  (Lan<jhin<jlij.)  Sorry! 

SADIK  (to  LANSING).  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
don't  know  what  her  last  name  is? 

LAN-SING.  That  very  thing.  (daily.)  Hut  wha1 
matter?  In  year-  agone  I  was  Paris  to  her  Helen. 
Antony  to  her  Cleopatra 

RT-TU.      And  Ananias  to  her  Sapphira ! 


90  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

SADIE.  Look  here,  Mr.  Writer-man,  your  talk 
sounds  queer  to  me.  (Suspiciously.)  You  don't  hap- 
pen to  have  anything  in  that  suit  case  that — (hesi- 
tates). 

LANSING.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  have  drunk  of  a  deeper 
draught  than  you  can  comprehend,  Miss  Sodastrom. 

RUTH  (with  sudden  interest).  What  made  you  call 
him  Writer-man? 

SADIE.  Just  because  he  says  he  is.  Strikes  me  that 
you  two  know  mighty  little  about  each  other  to  be  so 
friendly  like. 

RUTH  ( to  LANSING).     Do  you  write? 

LANSING  (jokingly).     Advertisements. 

SADIE  (in  a  relieved  tone).  So  that's  what  you  mean 
by  wanting  local  color  !  ( Turns. )  Well  —  I'm  going. 

RUTH.     Please  don't.     We  might  escape. 

SADIE  (at  door).  That's  nothing  to  me,  now. 
(PaiLses.)  Say,  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  sore  at  me 
for  causing  you  all  this  trouble. 

RUTH.     Trouble?     It  doesn't  look  like  trouble  to  me. 

LANSING.  Trouble?  There  is  no  such  thing  in  all 
the  world. 

SADIE  (disapprovingly).  There  you  go  again. 
(Pauses.)  Well,  if  you  want  anything  — 

RUTH  (blithely).     We  won't. 

SADIE.     Or  if  your  friends  don't  call  for  you  — 

LANSING.      They  will  (sighs) — alas! 

SADIE.     You'll  find  me  — 

LANSING.  In  the  first  house  across  the  road?  Ex- 
actly. 

SADIE  (despondently).  I  ain't  much  good  as  a  detec- 
tive or  a  sheriff  I'm  thinking  —  and  I  apologize  —  hon- 
est I  do.  (Exit.) 

RUTH  (glancing  at  her  watch).     I'm  sure  they  are 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  91 

at  Willowdene  by  this  time  —  so  we  may  expect  the 
relief  ambulance  us  soon  as  the  news  is  broken  to  — 
(hesitates). 

LANSING  (eagerly}.     Yes? 

RUTH.  My  hostess.  (As  he  sighs.}  What's  the 
matter? 

LANSING.  I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  say  —  my 
sister. 

RUTH.     Well  —  what  if  I  had? 

LANSING.  You  would  have  pricked  my  soapbubble  of 
rainbow  hues. 

RUTH.     But  —  why  ? 

LANSING.  Because  I  wish  to  think  of  you  as  —  Ruth 
— not  as  the  heiress. 

RUTH.     What  difference  does  it  make? 

LANSING.  The  difference  between  an  appalling  and 
barrierlike  bank  account  and  —  you. 

RUTH.      But  she  can't  help  her  money. 

LANSING.  Of  course  she  can't.  She  is  very  charm- 
ing and  very  talented,  no  doubt  —  but  she  isn't  —  you. 
Do  you  notice,  Ruth,  how  all  my  dissertations  seem  to 
center  upon  the  pronoun  of  the  second  person? 

RUTH.  Then  isn't  it  time  for  each  of  us  to  discuss 
this  second  person  —  rather  thoroughly? 

LANSING.     Why  not? 

RUTH.  What  do  you  know  of  the  heiress  —  as  you 
call  her? 

LANSING.  Nothing.  Mrs.  Foster's  charming  note 
of  invitation  informed  us  that,  the  other  guests  would  be 
her  sister  —  and  a  friend. 

Hi  in.      Do  you  know  anything  about  the  sister? 

LANSING.  Nothing  —  except  her  name.  Romeo  fur- 
nished that  bit  of  information.  So  you  may  readily  see 
why  I  hoped  that  the  Irate  Parent  would  address 


92  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

you  in  formal  style  and  tell  me  what  I  wanted  to  knov . 

RUTH  (after  a  moment).  Don't  call  your  friend 
Romeo.  What  is  his  real  name? 

LANSING.      Philip  Grant. 

RUTH.     Is  he  the  millionaire? 

LANSING.  Now  what  do  you  know  about  the  million- 
aire? 

RUTH.  Well  —  my  note  of  invitation  informed  me 
that  the  other  guests  would  be  a  millionaire  —  and  a 
somebody  designated  as  distinguished. 

LANSING.     No  names? 

RUTH.     No  names. 

LANSING.  What  makes  you  think  that  Phil  is  the 
millionaire? 

RUTH.  I  don't  say  that  I  think  he  is.  I  am  asking 
for  information. 

LANSING.     Do  you  want  him  to  be? 

RUTH.  What  a  question !  I  much  prefer  to  know  if 
you're  the  distinguished  one. 

LANSING.      That   adjective  hardly  belongs  to  me  — 
but  I'm  not  the  millionaire  —  if  that  helps  any. 

RUTH.     Oh,  I've  hoped  all  along  that  you  weren't  — 
and  then  when  that  girl  called  you  Writer-man,  I  just 
knew.      (Eagerly.)      Do  you  write?     Really  write? 

LANSING.      I  make  my  living  in  that  way. 

RUTH.     And — what  do  you  write? 

LANSING.  An  essay  here  —  a  story  there  —  and 
sometimes  a  novel. 

RUTH.     Oh! 

LANSING.  And  I'm  eternally  and  everlastingly  evolv- 
ing the  characters  who  trip  in  and  out  of  my  pages. 

RUTH.     Oh  —  how  splendid  ! 

LANSING.  Shall  I  tell  you  of  the  one  who  is  always 
with  me? 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  93 

KITH.       Please. 

LANSI NO.  She  isn't  only  a  book  lady  —  she's  a  com- 
panion   and  when  the  others  fade  away,  she  stays. 

She  smiles  at  me  from  the  other  side  of  my  camp  fire; 
she's  sweetly  serious  when  I  am  working  at  my  desk  — 
and  she  always  understands  my  mood.      She's   a   real 
friend  —  a  real  comrade. 

RTTH.  You  must  have  modeled  her  after  "some  one 
whom  you  know  —  intimately. 

LANSING.  On  the  other  hand,  I've  been  looking  for 
her  all  my  life.  And  today  —  I  found  her. 

Ui'Tii  (quickly}.  In  the  storm,  I  suppose.  Did  she 
wear  a  gown  of  grayish  mist,  carry  a  quiver  of  silver 
rain-shafts  and  leave  a  rainbow  in  her  wake? 

LANSING.      I'm   not   so   sure   of  the   grayish   mist 
nor  of  the  silver  rain-shafts  —  but  I  can  answer  for  the 
rainbow. 

KITH  (rising).  How  we  are  digressing  from  the 
original  subject!  (Comes  down  K.)  Since  I  am  elim- 
inated from  the  heiress  class,  I  must  be,  according  to 
your  logic,  the  other  one.  How  was  she  described.' 

LANSING.      As  —  a  friend.      (Follows  her.) 

Rt  TH.      Hopelessly  in  the  background,  isn't  she? 

LANSING.      Not  tome.      (Stands  back  of  her.) 

RrTii.  And  colorlessly  commonplace  when  con- 
trasted with  the  glitter  of  Juliet's  perfectly  good  dol- 
lars? 

LANSING  (sharply).     Don't  be  foolish. 

RUTH.  What  will  you  say  when  I  reveal  the  fact 
that  I'm  merely  —  a  secretary? 

LANSING.     A  secretary  to  the  heiress? 

RTTH.  She  doesn't  need  one.  (Pause*.)  I'm  en- 
gaged by  a  really  big  man. 

LANSING.      Look  here,  Ruth  —  did  you  say  by  or  to? 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 


RUTH.  By  —  of  course.  (As  he  remains  silent.) 
What's  the  matter? 

LANSING.  I'm  just  getting  my  breath.  Heart 
slipped  a  cog  over  that  engaged  business. 

RUTH.  You're  not  only  getting  personal,  Friday  — > 
but  silly.- 

LANSING.     Well  —  who  is  this  really  big  man? 

RUTH.      He's  a  writer,  too. 

LANSING.  Lucky  dog  to  get  you.  (Suddenly.) 
You  wouldn't  throw  him  over  for  another  job,  would 
you? 

RUTH.     Throw  over  Gilbert  Lansing? 

(For  a  moment,  LANSING'S  face  is  a  study.  Surprise, 
incredulity,  and  consternation  succeed  each  other.  He 
finally  speaks  —  with  an  effort. ) 

LANSING.     What  —  did  —  you  —  say? 

RUTH.     I  suppose  you  are  surprised. 

LANSING.     Surprised?     I'm   speechless. 

RUTH.     That  isn't  much  of  a  compliment  to  me. 

LANSING.     Perhaps  I  don't  fully  understand. 

RUTH.  Understand?  There's  nothing  to  under- 
stand. I  have  been  engaged  as  Gilbert  Lansing's  pri- 
vate secretary  and  am  to  report  the  first  of  the  month. 

LANSING.     Then  you  are  Ruth  MacDonald. 

RUTH  (wheeling  around).  How  do  you  know  my 
name? 

LANSING  (walking  to  L.).  Because  —  because- — I 
happen  to  be  a  friend  of  Gilbert  Lansing. 

RUTH  (enthusiastically).  Of  course  you'd  be  a 
friend  —  another  writer!  And  he  told  you  about  me? 

LANSING.     How  else  could  I  know? 

RUTH.  It's  quite  wonderful!  (Crosses  to  L.  and 
draws  LANSING  to  back  of  stage  where  they  seat  them- 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  95 

selves. )  Now  you  must  answer  a  thousand  questions 
and  tell  me  all  about  him.  First  —  is  he  so  very  old? 

LANSING  (hesitating).  He's —  he's  —  well,  he  has 
retained  all  his  faculties 

RUTH.      Don't  joke.      I'm  in  earnest. 

LANSING.  He's  gray-headed  —  but  —  but  —  well, 
his  heart  is  young. 

RUTH.  I  know  now  just  what  to  expect.  You  said 
that  in  the  same  spirit  that  one  woman  describes  an- 
other as  well-meaning. 

LANSING.      Oh  —  come  now  — 

RUTH.      Is  lie- — unattractive? 

LANSING.      No  —  I  shouldn't  call  him  that. 

RUTH.      Disagreeable.' 

LANSING.      Oh-—  he  ha.-,  moods,  of  course  — 

RTTH.  Literary  temperament,  I  suppose.  (Pauses.) 
I  shall  not  like  the  man. 

LANSING.      Oh,  don't   say   that. 

RUTH.      But  I  just  feel  it. 

LANSING  ( iinpidxireli) ).  But  you  will  like  him  — 
you've  got  to  like  him  — 

RUTH.      No  such  thing. 

LANSING  (seizing  her  ha  nth).  But  I  tell  you  that 
you  ic ill! 

RUTH  (dr dicing  her  hands  awaij).  Why  do  you 
speak  in  such  a  way? 

LANSING.  Because  —  because  (lam*  toicardher). 
Why,  Ruth,— I'm— I'm  ~ 

(  And  jnxt  tlicit  a  long  dnd  lnxtij  icail  of  a  motor  horn 
bring  ft  them  to  their  feet.) 

RUTH.      Wlmfs    that? 

I,  \NSINC.      They've   come   after   us  -      hang  the   luck! 

RUTH.      Oh  —  do      you      think      so?      ( Impulsively 


96  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

grasps  his  arm.)  Let's  not  go.  (Another  blast  of  the 
horn  —  and  she  goes  to  the  door,  opens  it  and  peeps  out 
cautiously. ) 

LAMBERT  (from  off  stage).  Hi,  there,  Ruth!  Are 
you  still  here? 

RUTH.  Very  much  here.  We  missed  the  local  —  all 
on  account  of  you  two. 

LAMBERT  (cheerfully).  Too  bad.  Let  me  introduce 
you  to  my  wife. 

RUTH.  Oh,  Dwight  —  have  you  really  gone  and 
done  it?  (Turns  to  LANSING.)  Come  here  —  it's  the 
bride  and  groom.  (He  joins  her  at  door.) 

LAMBERT.  Well  —  I  should  say  so.  Nothing  can 
scare  us  up  now. 

PEGGY  PAT  (weakly,  off  stage}.  Ruth  —  did  dad 
come  ? 

RUTH.     He  came  —  he  saw  —  he  exploded. 

LAMBERT.     I  bet  he  did. 

PEGGY  PAT.     Is  he  following? 

LANSING.     Not  a  bit  of  it.     He's  headed  for  home  — 
so  there'll  probably  be  a  light  in  the  window  for  you. 

LAMBERT.  There'll  be  something  else  waiting  for  us 
all  right,  all  right.  So  we're  not  going  home. 

RUTH.  Where  else  can  Peggy  go  —  in  those 
clothes? 

LAMBERT.  To  the  nearest  hotel.  Then  she  can  buy 
what  she  needs. 

RUTH.  Buy?  That  would  be  positively  sinful  with 
a  whole  trousseau  going  to  waste. 

PEGGY  PAT  (complacently}.  Well — that  isn't  my 
fault. 

RUTH.     Then,  whose  is  it? 

PEGGY  PAT.  Why,  yours,  Ruth.  You  proposed  our 
eloping,  you  know. 


RUTH  IX  A  RUSH  97 

RUTH.     Proposed?     I  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 

PKGGY  PAT.  Well,  you  were  responsible,  just  the 
same. 

KITH.  I  never  heard  of  such  ingratitude. 
(  7'rt/w.v. )  Well  —  are  you  sorry  that  you  did  it? 

PKGGY  PAT  (in  an  aggrieved  tone).  Sorry?  Why, 
Ruth,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing? 

RTTH.  Then,  remember,  Peggy  Pat,  that  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  me,  you  would  have  been  ignominiously 
dragged  home. 

LANSING.  And  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  young  man, 
you'd  be  laughing  on  the  other  side  of  your  mouth. 

LAMBERT.  Bully  of  you  to  help  me  out,  old  chap, 
and  I'll  do  the  same  for  you,  some  day,  when  you  find 
the  right  girl  and  want  to  get  over  the  border  line. 
(Sounds  horn.)  Good-bye  —  we're  off! 

(RUTH  and  LANSING  close  the  door,  and  walk  slowly 
to  R.  where  they  seat  themselves.  The  sound  of  the 
motor  horn  dies  away.) 

RUTH.  Talk  about  the  irresponsibility  of  youth! 
The  calm  forgetfulness  of  that  pair  makes  me  rather 
cross. 

LANSING  (thoughtfully).  And  yet  I'd  give  a  good 
deal  to  lose  a  few  years  —  and  to  be  in  that  young 
fellow's  place. 

KITH  (teasinyly).  Dear  me!  Did  Peggy  Pat  make 
such  a  conquest  as  all  that?  You  should  see  her  prop- 
erly clothed  and  in  her  right  mind. 

LANSING.  I  don't  mean  that  —  and  you  know  it.  I 
was  wishing  that  I,  too,  might  find  the  only  girl  in  the 
world  and  ride  with  her  straight  into  the  land  of  hap- 
piness. 

RI'TH.     Then  —  whv  not  ? 


98  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

LANSING.  Because  I'm  past  the  age  when  I  can  trust 
to  the  impulse  of  the  moment  —  when  I  can  defy  fate, 
disregard  the  future,  and  dash  away  every  obstacle  that 
threatens. 

RUTH.  But  some  of  the  greatest  things  in  the  world 
are  done  —  in  a  rush. 

LANSING.      Do  you  believe  in  that  theory? 

RT'TH.      I'm  afraid  I  do. 

LANSING.  When  convention  —  and  the  world  —  say 
—  wait? 

RUTH.  There's  a  glorious  satisfaction  in  refusing 
to  wait  —  in  being  swept  off  your  feet  —  in  doing  the 
unusual  and  the  unexpected. 

LANSING.      Do  you  really  feel  that  way  about  it? 

RUTH.  So  strongly,  that  I'd  rather  crowd  into  one 
breathless,  divine  moment  what  logically  belongs  to  a 
period  of  discretion. 

LANSING  (after  a  pause).     I  didn't  suppose  that  in 
all  the  world  there  was  another  person  who  thought  — 
just  as  I  think. 

RUTH  (whimsically).  And  you  found  her  in  a  little 
two-by-four  waiting  room  in  an  obscure  little  junction 
by  the  side  of  the  main  road. 

LANSING.     Did  I  also  find  her  friendship? 

RUTH.  Of  course.  Doesn't  our  theory  prove  itself 
in  the  fact  that  we've  gained  in  a  few  hours  what  weeks 
of  acquaintance  in  a  stiff  drawing  room  might  have 
failed  to  accomplish? 

LANSING.  Friendship,  Ruth,  is  one  of  the  greatest 
things  in  the  world. 

RUTH.  And  freedom.  Freedom  to  plan  one's  life  in 
a  wise,  sane  fashion. 

LANSING.     Would  such  a  freedom  be  broad  enough  to 


RITH   IX  A  RUSH  99 

carry  you  over  the  border  line  —  with  the  man  you 
loved  ? 

RTTH.      It  would. 

LANSING.  Even  if  he  were  not  a  friend  —  of  long, 
long  standing? 

RTTH  (after  a  pause).  The  fairies  at  my  cradle 
<_;ave  me  a  groat  gift,  Friday  —  the  promise  that  I 
should  know  my  —  lover  —  the  moment,  the  very  mo- 
ment that  I  should  first  meet  him. 

LANSING  (leaning  toward  her).  If  —  to  friendship 
—  and  to  freedom  —  we  should  add — love  —  What 
then,  Ruth?  What- 

Aud  tJien,  without  learning,  the  window  fliex  up, 
SADIK  leans  ant  ant!  SAIHK'S  shrill  roice  shouts  "  Need 
ant/thing?  " 

LANSING  (rising  and  walking  to  front  of  stage). 
(ireat  I  leavens,  no!  We'll  call,  if  we  do. 

SADIK.  It's  so  cloudy  that  it's  getting  dark  all  of  a 
sudden.  Want,  a  light? 

RrTH.      \o  —  thank  you. 

SADIE.  I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  one  since  you 
didn't  know  each  other  any  better. 

RTTH.  Many  thanks  —  but  our  car  will  soon  be 
here.  So  we'll  be  duly  chaperoned. 

LANSING  (turning).  Thanks  also  —  for  your  inter- 
est. 

SADIK  (pert!//).     You're  welcome. 

I.AXSING.  And  would  you  mind  shutting  the  win- 
dow? It  creates  —  a  draft. 

SADIE.     Just  as  you  say.      (Slams  down  the  window.) 
RTTH  (laughingly}.      Now  there's  a  character  study 
you.  Writer-man.      1'se  her  in  your  next   story. 


100  RUTH  IX  A  RUSH 

LANSING  (at  C.).  I'm  not  in  a  literal*}'  frame  of 
mind  at  present  —  so  don't  call  me  Writer-man. 

RUTH.      But  what  is  your  real  name? 

LANSING.     Don't  ask  me. 

RUTH.  I  don't  intend  to  —  since  it  will  be  much 
more  fun  not  to  know  until  we  are  properly  introduced 
at  Willowdene. 

LANSING  (walking  to  and  fro).  This  Sunshine  Junc- 
tion adventure  would  work  up  pretty  well  —  come  to 
think  about  it. 

RUTH.  It  would  be  —  corking.  If  you  don't  use  it, 
I  shall. 

LANSING.      What?.    Are  you  a  writer? 

RUTH.  I  try  it  —  occasionally.  (As  LANSING  walks 
to  front  of  stage.)  What's  the  matter,  Friday? 
Don't  you  like  literary  women  ? 

LANSING.      I  refuse  to  think  of  you,  as  such. 

RUTH.   .Why?     It's  my  great  ambition. 

LANSING  (turning).     Have  you  talent? 

RUTH.     A  little,  I  think. 

LANSING.  Does  writing  mean  —  everything  —  to 
you  ? 

RUTH.     Not  —  everything. 

LANSING.     Can  you  live  without  it? 

RUTH.     Easily. 

LANSING.     Then  give  it  up. 

RUTH.  Don't  be  so  grouchy  about  it.  And  why 
should  I  give  it  up? 

LANSING  (sitting  by  her).  Because  I  haven't  much 
faith  in  women's  ability  to  interpret  life  through  the 
medium  of  literature. 

RUTH.  How  unfair  —  and  what  right  have  you  to 
make  such  a  statement? 

LANSING.     The  right  that  experience  gives.     Nine- 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  101 

tenths  of  the  manuscripts  which  comr  my  way  give  such 
an  unnatural,  distorted  idea  of  everyday  existence  that 
they  take  my  breath. 

RUTH.     Then  you're  a  critic? 

LANSING.  Unfortunately  —  I'm  the  editor  of  a  mag- 
azine. 

RUTH  (startled).     Editor? 

LANSING.  Yes,  Don't  you  think  that  I  look  like 
one  ? 

KITH.     Which  magazine? 

LANSING  (carelessly).  What  matter?  (Pauses.) 
Women  insist  upon  writing  about  things  they  do  not 
understand  —  instead  of  endeavoring  to  portray  every- 
day incidents,  everyday  people  and  everyday  emotions. 
Why  not  long  ago  a  manuscript  came  to  me—  (Sud- 
denly.)  But  I  must  be  boring  you. 

KITH.      Go  on.      Please  go  on.  % 

LANSING.  A  manuscript  —  well-written,  rhetori- 
cally perfect  —  but  giving  a  false  philosophy  and  pre- 
senting characters  so  foreign  to  those  whom  we  meet 
and  know  and  love  that  —  I  laughed. 

RITH  (eager]-;)).      Yes? 

LANSING.  The  heroine,  for  example, —  a  queer,  ex- 
otic creature  possessing  no  definite  feminine  charm  and 
blessed  with  the  execrable  name  of  Leona  — 

KITH  (startled).     Leona? 

LANSING.  Yes.  (As  he  observes  her  agitation.) 
What's  the  matter? 

Rrrii.      Leona  is  a  very  pretty  name. 

LANSING.  Oh,  no,  it  isn't.  When  one  might  use 
sweet,  wholesome  names  like  Mary  —  Jane — (softly) 
-or  Ruth. 

KITH.     Tell  me  some  more  about  Leona. 

LANSING.      The  author  made  a  pathetic  attempt  to 


102  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

have  her  a  mystery  —  not  only  to  men  but  to  women. 

RUTH  (airily).  How  foolish!  A  woman  may  be  a 
mystery  to  a  man  —  but  never  to  another  woman. 

LANSING  (in  surprise).  Why  you've  said  just  what 
I  was  about  to  say ! 

RUTH.     What  of  the  hero? 

LANSING.  The  hero?  Don't  dignify  him  with  such 
a  title! 

RUTH.  I  suppose  that  he  was  so  poorly  delineated 
that  he  might  have  been  a  United  States  senator,  a  pat- 
ent medicine  agitator  or  the  floor  walker  in  some  depart- 
ment store. 

LANSING  (puzzled).     Why  —  yes  —  exactly. 

RUTH.     And  was  there  a  villain? 

LANSING.     A  regular  dyed-in-the-wool  villain  — 

RUTH.  Whose  wife  was  doubtless  restored  to  him  at 
the  sacrifice  of 'his  fortune. 

LANSING.     How  did  you  know? 

RUTH.  Intuition.  And  the  average  man  would 
rather  lose  a  dozen  wives  than  a  dozen  dollars. 
Wouldn't  he? 

LANSING  (excitedly).  Where  did  you  get  that 
phrase? 

RUTH.     And  how  does  the  story  end? 

LANSING.     In  a  ridiculously  tragic  way. 

RUTH.     By  the  heroine's  jumping  off  a  precipice? 

LANSING  (as  he  begins  to  understand).  Look  here 
-  Ruth  — 

RUTH  (excitedly).  And  any  sensible  writer  knows 
that  the  average  reader  doesn't  care  what  happens  to 
the  hero  and  the  heroine  just  so  long  as  they  are  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms  when  the  story  ends. 

LANSING  (rising).     Ruth! 

RUTH    (breathlessly).     For    in    popular    literature, 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  103 

only  villains  die — and  unfortunate  husbands  whose 
wives  are  in  love  with  other  men.  Otherwise,  it's  hard 
upon  the  digestion. 

LANSING.      You  —  wrote  —  that  —  story. 

RITH  (rising).  Of  course  I  did.  And  you  are  Gil- 
bert Lansing. 

I.AXSIXG.  Of  course  I'm  Gilbert  Lansing.  (With 
outstretched  hands.)  Aren't  you  glad  I'm  not  old  — 
and  crotchety  —  and  —  disagreeable? 

KTTH  (it-diking  to  front  of  stage).    I  —  hate  —  you. 

LANSING.     Ruth ! 

KITH  (turning).  Why  shouldn't  I  —  when  you 
took  my  poor  little  story  —  and  tore  it  into  tatters. 

LANSING.  But  I  didn't  know  that  it  was  your  story. 
The  name  appended  — 

RUTH.  Was  naturally  not  that  of  Ruth  MacDon- 
ald. 

I.AXSIXG  (at  C.).  Great  heavens,  Ruth!  If  I  had 
reali/ed  — 

RITH.     But  you  didn't  —       And  if  I  had  known  — 

LANSING.  But  you  didn't.  (Smilingly.)  So  let's 
call  it  square  and  celebrate  the  formal  introduction  of 
Ruth  MacDonald  and  Gilbert  Lansing. 

RfTH  (stamping  her  foot).      Never. 

LAXSIXG.  But,  Ruth, —  if  you  had  realized  my  abso- 
lute joy  when  I  discovered  you  to  be  my  private  secre- 
tary — 

RI-TH   (interrupting).     But  I'm  not  your  secretary 
-  I'll  never  be. 
LAXSIXG.      Don't  say  that. 
RITH.     I  mean  it. 

I.AXSIXG.      My    mistake    was    a    natural    one.     I'm 

sorrv. 


104 


RUTH.  But  why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  were 
Gilbert  Lansing? 

LANSING.  Wasn't  it  a  justifiable  temptation  —  to 
wait  ? 

RUTH.      It  was  not  kind.      It  made  me  ridiculous. 

LANSING.      You  couldn't  be  ridiculous. 

RUTH.     And  I'll  never  forgive  you. 

LANSING.  Please  don't  let  our  friendship  end  this 
way. 

RUTH.  Our  friendship?  You  mean  our  acquaint- 
ance. That,  Mr.  Lansing,  will  doubtless  begin  —  and 
end  —  at  Willowdene. 

And  at  this  moment,  JEAN  MOORE  FOSTER  enters, 
wearing  a  long  motor  coat  over  an  elaborate  dinner 
gown  and  shrouded  in  a  motor  veil.  She  is  of  attrac- 
tive personality,  fashionable  in  the  extreme  —  and  is 
now  goaded  into  unusual  excitement  and  agitation. 
She  throws  back  her  veil,  crosses  to  RUTH  and  embraces 
her  in  a  perfunctory  manner. 

JEAN.     Ruth  MacDonald  Moore ! 

LANSING  (in  surprise).     Moore! 

JEAN  (crossing  to  him).  Mr.  Lansing,  I  am  your 
hostess,  Mrs.  Foster,  and  I  am  deeply  chagrined  to 
think  that  you  have  had  this  long  and  tiresome  wait 
when  a  telephone  message  would  have  brought  our  car 
to  you. 

LANSING  (as  he  takes  her  outstretched  hand).  It 
has  been  anything  but  a  tiresome  wait,  Mrs.  Foster. 

JEAN.      But  it  seems  so  inhospitable. 

LANSING.  Hardly  that.  You  must  remember  that 
Mr.  Grant's  lack  of  gasoline  is  really  the  cause  of  our 
delay.  (Motioning  to  RUTH.)  Won't  you  introduce 
us? 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  105 

JEAN.  Introduce  you?  Haven't  you  been  together 
all  afternoon? 

LANSING.  But  we  have  been  —  unidentified  —  so  to 
speak. 

JEAN  (sharply).  How  foolish  of  you,  Ruth.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  your  name?  (To  LANSING.)  My  sis- 
ter, Miss  Moore,  Mr.  Lansing. 

LANSING  (acknowledging  the  introduction}.  And 
now,  Miss  Moore,  it  is  possible  for  us  to  begin  our  ac- 
quaintance formally  and  conventionally  —  at  Willow- 
dene.  (To  JEAN.)  Shall  I  precede  you  to  the  car, 
Mrs.  Foster,  and  stow  away  the  baggage?  (Takes 
RUTH'S  bag,  umbrella  and  his  own  unit  case.) 

JEAN.  If  you  will.  (As  he  goes  out.)  Ruth  —  do 
you  know  who  that  is? 

RUTH.     Of   course    I   know. 

JEAN.  But  do  you  know  that  he  is  a  very  distin- 
guished author? 

Rt'TH  (impatiently}.  Oh,  Jean  —  Jean  —  give  me 
credit  for  average  intelligence. 

JEAN.  You've  said  something  to  him  that  you 
shouldn't. 

RI'TH.     I  have  not. 

JEAN.  His  expression  shows  it.  (Goes  to  her.) 
Oh,  Ruth,  Ruth,  why  won't  you  he  like  other  girls? 

RI'TH.  This  isn't  a  very  pleasant  welcome,  Jean. 
Nor  do  I  understand  how  you  know  what  I've  been  sav- 
ing and  what  I've  been  doing. 

JEAN.  From  what  Juliet  tells  me  I  know  that  it's  all 
been  verv  unconventional. 

RTTH.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  We  four  have  been 
killing  time  in  a  very  satisfactory  manner  —  and  ha\. 
chosen  to  withhold  our  names.  That's  all  there  is  to  it. 

JEAX.      Then   what    does  Juliet    mean   bv   this  absurd 


106  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

name  of  Romeo?      (Watts.)      And —  oh,  Ruth  —  why 
weren't  you  the  one  to  captivate  Mr.  Grant? 

RUTH.  So  that's  what  the  matter,  is  it?  And  how 
do  you  know  that  I  haven't  captivated  him? 

JEAN.  I'm  not  so  blind  that  I  can't  perceive  the 
obvious.  Coming1  down  from  Willowdene  —  well,  if  he 
and  Juliet  are  not  already  engaged  they  soon  will  be. 

RUTH  (in  surprise).  Coming  down?  Did  they 
come  back  with  you? 

JEAN.  Indeed  they  did.  Bringing  gasoline  for  that 
stranded  oar. 

RUTH  (smiling  to  herself).     Pretty  work,  Jule! 

JEAN.  Why  didn't  you  let  me  send  the  car  for  you 
in  the  first  place? 

RUTH.     The  roads  were  bad. 
.     JEAN.     And  what  of  that? 

RUTH.     And  there  was  a  train. 

JEAN.     But  there  wasn't  a  train  as  it  happened. 

RUTH.  Oh,  yes,  there  was.  Circumstances  pre- 
vented me  from  making  use  of  it  —  that's  all. 

JEAN.  And  very  peculiar  circumstances,  I  fear. 
Juliet  was  rather  non-committal  but  I  gathered  from 
her  sketchy  account  of  things  that  you  dragged  poor 
Mr.  Lansing  into  the  ridiculous  and  embarrassing  po- 
sition of  your  fiance. 

RUTH.  Not  exactly  that.  We  helped  out  Peggy 
Pat  and  Dwight  —  that's  all. 

JEAN.     But  what  must  he  think  of  you? 

RUTH.     I  haven't  asked  him  - —  nor  do  I  care. 

JEAN.     Were  you  really  —  handcuffed? 

RUTH.      Temporarily.     And  handcuffed  —  together. 

JEAN.     Disgusting ! 

RUTH.  He  didn't  seem  to  think  so.  In  fact,  we  both 
enjoyed  it. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  107 

JEAN.  Whatever  interest  the  man  might  have  had  in 
you  has  probably  been  destroyed  by  your  lack  of  con- 
vention. 

RUTH.  Then  that  is  my  own  affair,  is  it  not?  Or 
did  you  invite  me  Jean,  merely  for  the  purpose  of  an- 
nexing a  husband? 

JEAN.      Don't  express  yourself  in  that  vulgar  way. 

RUTH.     Well  —  did  you  ? 

JEAN  (with  dignity).  I  consider  it  an  advantage  for 
any  girl  to  know  Gilbert  Lansing  and  Philip  Grant. 

Enter  JULIET  hurriedly  and  unceremoniously.  She 
dams  tlie  door,  stands  with  her  back  against  it  and 
s/x'dks  breathlessly. 

Jri,iKT.      What   is   the  matter  with  Friday  r 

JEAN.  Friday?  Ruth,  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  dare  to  call  Mr.  Lansing  Friday? 

RUTH.  I  certainly  do.  And  from  this  time  on,  he 
becomes  Friday  the  thirteenth. 

JULIET.      He  looks  unlucky  enough  as  it  is. 

JEAN.  I  don't  understand  your  foolishness  —  and  I 
propose  that  we  hurry  home. 

JULIET  (crossing  to  RUTH).  Just  a  moment  with 
Ruth,  Jean. 

JEAN.  Then  don't  linger.  Dinner  has  waited  suf- 
ficiently long  as  it  is.  ( Kj:it.) 

JULIET.  Is  the  trouble  on  account  of  his  being  Gil- 
bert Lansing? 

Ki'TH.  Partly.  Hi-  ridiculed  my  manuscript,  you 
remember. 

JULIET.      It    needed    it. 

RI-TII.  That  may  he.  Hut  what  he  said  hurt  just 
the  same. 

th'i.iKT.      You're   not    a   good   >port. 

RUTH.      Perhaps  not. 


108  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

JULIET.  Did  you  tell  him  that  you  were  his  secre- 
tary ? 

RUTH.     I  did. 

JULIET.      And  then  did  he  tell  you  his  name? 

RUTH.     He  did  not. 

JULIET.     Then  how  did  you  discover  his  identity? 

RUTH.  I  guessed  it.  For  he  began  to  make  fun  of 
that  very  manuscript  that  I  had  sent  him. 

JULIET.  But  he  didn't  know  that  you  were  the 
author. 

RUTH.     No  —  but  — 

JULIET.  You're  a  goose  —  and  you've  got  to  apol- 
ogize. 

RUTH  {slyly).  I've  about  decided  to  turn  my  atten- 
tion to  the  other  one. 

JULIET.      What? 

RUTH.  To  —  Philip  Grant  —  as  I  believe  he's 
called. 

JULIET.     You  don't  mean  that,  do  you? 

RUTH.     Why  not? 

JULIET.  Because  —  my  dear  —  I'm  afraid  vou're 
too  late. 

RUTH  (shaking  her).    Oh,  Jule,  you  funny  old  thing! 

JULIET.     I'm  not  funny  —  I'm  just  happy. 

RUTH.     But  he's  a  millionaire. 

JULIET.  To  use  your  own  words,  Ruth  —  I  don't 
care  if  he's  a  rag-picker. 

RUTH.  And  to  use  yours  to  me  —  a  noble  but  pecu- 
liar sentiment,  my  dear. 

JULIET.  Don't  persist  in  this  foolish  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Lansing,  Ruth.  Promise  me. 

RUTH.  He  may  be  the  one  to  persist.  You  see,  I 
didn't  tell  him  that  I  was  —  well  —  myself. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH  109 

JULIET.  Then  let  me  send  him  to  you  before  We 
start. 

RUTH.      Fni  not  so  sure  that  it's  wise. 

JULIET.  Please  —  please.  (Coaxingly.)  Oh  — 
please. 

HTTH  (after  a  momrnt).  Then — just  as  you  say. 
( I'd  uses. )  And  hurry! 

JULIET  (laughing  an  she  runs  to  the  door).  Of 
course  I'll  hurry.  (Goes  out  <in<l  then  opens  door 
again.)  Go  thou  and  do  likewise! 

///  a  moment  the  door  opens  and  LANSING  appear*. 

LANSING   (at  door,  holding  out  his  hands).     Ruth! 

RUTH  (meeting  him  at  C.  mid  taking  his  hands). 
Will  you  forgive  me? 

LANSING.  Forgive  you  —  Heavens  —  /  was  the 
brute. 

KT-TH.      But  you  didn't  know  —  and  anyway  (sighs) 
—  I  can't  write. 

LANSING.  But  you  can  write  —  and  we'll  do  it  to- 
gether. 

RUTH.     Together? 

LANSING.      Aren't  you  my  secretary? 

Rr-ni.      Even  if  Ivarn  the  heiress? 

LANSING.      Even  so. 

RUTH.      I  can't  help  my  money,  Friday. 

LANSING.     And  I'm  not  thinking  of  your  ridiculous 
old  money.     Oh,  Ruth  - —  all  that  really  matters  is  - 
you. 

RUTH  (softly).     And  —  you. 

LANSING  (a*  he  puts  his  arms  around  her).  Do  you 
still  feel  that  —  sometime  —  you  can  ride  over  the  bor- 
derlim with  the  man  you  love? 

RI-TM.      Yrs  —  oh,  yes. 

LANSING.     And  will  you  go  —  with  me? 


110  RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

RUTH.     With  nobody  else. 
LANSING.      Soon  ? 

RUTH   (laughing).     Oh,  Friday,  Friday  —  Haven't 
you  found  out  by  this  time  that  I'm  always  —  in  a  rush? 

GUETAIN 


Assisted  By  Sadie 

BY 

WALTER  BEN  HARE 

A  COMEDY  of  mystery,  in  4  arts;  6  males,  fi  females. 
Time,   2%    hours.     Scenes:     2   easy   interiors. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

Alonzo  Dow The  Mysterious  Clubman 

Cameron    The   Clever  Detective 

Bunch    The  Slangy  Bellboy 

Dr.    Beedle    The   Old    Professor 

Colonel   Jenniver The   Puzzled   Hotel  Manager 

Mr.  Null The  Young  Millionaire 

Sadie The   Stenographer 

Harriet The   Society  Girl 

Seftora  Gonzales The  Fascinator 

Mrs.  C.  Christopher  Carley The  Peppery  Dowager 

Vicky    ...  The   Debutante 

Mrs.   Quinn The  Maid 

This  is  a  swiftly  moving  ingenious  comedy  of  adven- 
ture, sparkling  with  humor  and  replete  with  mystery. 
Excitement,  laughter  and  a  mounting  tensity  of  emo- 
tion are  blended  with  the  charm  of  a  delightful  style. 
A  $20,000  pearl  necklace  is  stolen  at  a  large  seaside 
hotel.  This  is  followed  by  other  crimes  until  the  detec- 
tives and  incidentally  the  audience  find  themselves  in 
a  maze  of  intrigue  and  mystery  from  which  they  are 
not  extricated  until  the  final  curtain  and  then  only 
with  the  assistance  of  Sadie.  Into  the  pervading 
comedy  scenes  are  blended  pathos,  serious  action  and 
incident  until  the  audience  wonders  what  will  happen 
next.  The  twelve  characters  are  about  equally  bal- 
anced. 

Professional  stage  rights  reserved  and  a 
royalty  often  dollars  required  for  amateur 
performance.  Price,  Per  Copy,  50  Cents. 


T.  S.  Denison  &  Company, 

i:,t   \Vest  Randolph  Street  CHICAGO 


The  Real  Thing  After  All 

BY 

LINDSEY  BARBKE 

An  after- the-war  comedy-drama,  in  3  acts;  7  males, 
9  females  (2  are  children,  boy  and  girl).  Time,  2% 
hours.  Scenes:  1  exterior,  1  interior. 

CAST   OP   CHARACTERS. 

Bobby    Winton A    Youthful    Soldier 

Ruth  Meredith With  the  Gift  of  Understanding 

Anne  Meredith  Winton In  Love  with  Her  Husband 

Kate    Mrs.    Winton's    Maid 

Robert  Winton A  Successful  Lawyer 

Cecily    Hargraves ; Richard's   Fiancee 

Thomas   Gregory A    Mystery 

Alison  Page Who  Is  Clever 

Dennis Who  Emulates  Sherlock  Holmes 

Doris  Thome A  War  Bride 

Edward   Thorne    ("Ted") A  War  Groom 

Captain  Richard  Winton Who  Does  the  Unexpected 

Aimge "A    Little    Bit    of   France" 

Miss   Ward Richard's   Aunt  and    Housekeeper 

Fifl A   French  Maid 

Roger  Atherton An  American  Aviator 

Sometimes  it  is  pretty  hard  to  find  the  real  thing 
after  all — and  Dick  Winton,  fresh  from  service,  with 
a  Croix  de  Guerre  all  his  own  and  a  dear  French 
orphan  to  claim  his  care  and  affection,  searches  in 
vain  until  the  Christmas  spirit  touches  his  eyes  and 
gives  him  the  magic  vision.  And  while  selfish  Cecily, 
quiet  Ruth  and  adoring  Aim6e  unconsciously  direct 
his  destiny,  clever  Alison  tries  to  decide  between  the 
mysterious  aviator  and  the  equally  mysterious  Tom 
Gregory,  and  a  fascinating  French  maid  plays  havoc 
with  hearts — and  other  things!  The  irrepressible  Kate, 
in  emulation  of  Dennis,  assumes  the  role  of  detective 
and  flourishes  the  stolen  pearls  at  the  crucial  moment; 
the  stranger,  Atherton,  proves  a  friend  in  need  and 
establishes  an  identity,  all  by  a  packet  of  letters;  and, 
as  to  the  recovery  of  the  missing  twenty-five  thousand 
— well,  that  Is  Bobby's  story,  and  he  tells  it  much 
better  than  anybody  else  can  hope  to  do. 

Price,    35    Cents. 

T.  S.  Denison  &  Company,  Publishers 

154  West  Randolph   Street  CHICAGO 


Plays  for  Schools  and  Colleges 

THE  HIGH  SCHOOL  FRESHMAN 

By  Charles  Ulrich. 

_-  Price,  25  Cents. 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  HEART'S  CONTENT 

By    Lindsey   Barbee 

Price,  35  Cents. 


MACBETH  A  LA  MODE 

By    Walter    Ben    Hare. 

Price,  25  Cents. 

MRS.  TUBBS  OF  SHANTYTOWN 

By     Walter     Ben     Hare. 

Price,  35  Cents. 

A  POOR  MARRIED  MAN 

By  Walter  Ben   Hare^.    J 

Price,  35  Cents. 

A  PRAIRIE  ROSE  " 

By    Edith    F.   A.    U.    Painton. 

Price,  35  Cents. 

THE  REAL  THING  AFTER  ALL 

By    Lindsey   Barbee 

Price,  35  Cents. 

RE-TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW 

By  John   W.   Postga* 

Price,  25  Cents. 


RUTH  IN  A  RUSH 

By   Lindsey   Barbee 

Price,  35  Cents. 

SAVAGELAND 

By    Walter    Ben    Hare. 

Price,  50  Cents. 

SING  A  SONG  OF  SENIORS 

By    Lindsey    Barbee 

Price,  25  Cents. 

STAR  BRIGHT 

By    Edith   F.    A.    U.   Painton. 

Price,   35  Cen\s. 

ZARAGUETA  OR  MONEY  TALKS 

Translated     from     the     Spanish     by     Clarence     Stratton. 

Price,  36  Cents. 

T.  S.  Denison  &  Company,  Publishers 

154   \\Yst   Kan<lolp!  CHI' 


Standard  and  Amateur  Plays 

Our  list  of  plays  comprises  hundreds  of 
titles;  dramas,  comedies,  farces,  vaudeville 
sketches,  monologues,  entertainments,  etc. 
All  shades  of  sentiment  are  represented,  all 
varieties  of  talent,  number  of  characters  and 
time  required  in  presentation  are  provided 
for  in  this  list. 


Popular  Entertainment  Books 

Under  this  heading  are  found  books 
touching  every  feature  in  the  entertainment 
field,  Dialogues,  for  all  ages,  Speakers, 
Recitations,  Monologues,  Drills,  Entertain- 
ments, suitable  for  all  occasions,  Jokes,  Min- 
strels, Hand  Books,  etc.  Over  sixty  titles. 
These  books  are  not  rilled  with  old  ma- 
terial, rehashed  and  simply  made  to  sell ; 
they  are  fresh  and  original  matter,  each 
written  by  a  specialist  in  his  given  line.  The 
books  are  finely  made,  clear  print,  good  pa- 
per and  each  has  a  most  attractive,  indi- 
vidual cover  design.  One  of  the  best  and 
most  complete  entertainment  series  pub- 
lished. Paper  Binding  Only. 

Send  for  Complete  Descriptive  Catalogue 

T.  S.  Denison&Company,  Publishers 

154  West  Randolph  Street  CHICAGO 


A     000  097  841     1 


